Nightingale
by battlescar
Summary: AU, Cas/Dean. Dean is a nurse, Cas is a cop. Cas is shot in the shoulder on a bust and Dean nurses him back to health. In the months that transpire, they become good friends and start to fall in love. However, love sometimes comes at a cost...
1. Chapter 1

It was like any other day at the hospital, except it wasn't. It started out that way, but Dean Winchester didn't know things were about to change for him. He wasn't the kind of guy who got into these kinds of situations, was what he kept telling himself, but no matter how much he tried to nail the point home, it didn't matter. Today was the day.

The second Dean saw him, it felt like the air had been sucked out of him. Male, thirties, dark hair with a scruffy face and a gaping bullet hole, blood soaking through the shoulder of his right sleeve, staining the powder blue of his police uniform. He was sweating, eyes closed, but conscious, looking strangely peaceful for a man who'd just been shot. Time froze for a minute, then sped back to normal speed after the gurney turned the corner and left Dean's sight. He let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for far too long, and went back to work.

Dean thought about the cop all day. There was something intriguing about him that he couldn't put his finger on. He was strange, and that was saying something. As a nurse, Dean had seen all kinds of crap, but never something like this. Injuries, gunshots, policemen, good looking guys, sure, but there was something different here. Dean was determined to figure it out and set his heart on being this dude's nurse - he had to bribe a couple of his coworkers but he managed to work it out. So what if he owed some homely girl a date, or that dick doctor a six pack of beer? Not a big deal. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to see the guy until tomorrow, but he did glance into the room every chance he got when walking by to check on other patients. The door was always closed, and the one time it wasn't, he barely got a glimpse before the door shut right in his face. So Dean gave in, did his job, and waited until tomorrow came.

Dean made sure to get up nice and early. He wasn't going to be late, no matter how much he liked sleeping in, and normally he wasn't a morning person, but he could make an exception. He got ready in record time, extra thorough with his morning routine, though he wound up spending extra time on his hair. There was this one tuft of hair in the back that would never lay right no matter how much he fucked with it, sticking out and mocking him. He was not going to look stupid today, no way. It took him fifteen minutes, but he got it. He kicked his baby, his inherited trusty '67 Impala into high gear and sped off to work.

Twenty minutes later, Dean shuffled into the patient's room wearing his favorite blue scrubs and a big grin. He'd checked the patient's file before stepping in. His name was Castiel St. James, aged thirty-four, born 1974. He was a police officer and a Marine Corps vet, blood type AB+. Injured on the job, one bullet wound to the shoulder and some faint bruising on his chest and face. Dean wondered what the other guy looked like, wondered if Cas caught whatever criminal he was chasing. He licked his lips, checking out the light bruises above his eye. At least they didn't fuck up his face... not that Dean was gay, but he could appreciate an attractive looking guy. He wasn't wearing his police blues anymore, but instead a white hospital gown with a small, light blue diamond pattern adorning it. He was dozing lightly in his bed, the white sheets pulled up over his lap, his hands over the blankets, by his sides. Dean could already see he'd bled through his bandages, but Cas didn't seem to notice. Dean took a second to notice Cas was pretty buff. Had to be, being a cop... just probably didn't eat a lot of doughnuts. The curve of his muscle was firm, his skin a little tan. Dean's eyes traveled back up to his handsome face, examining his stubbled jaw and pink lips.

Fuck, he was spacing. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of the bed.

"Hey, uh, rise and shine, Five-O." Dean wheeled the medical cart closer, leaning over the bed. He was answered with a soft grunt and a pair of ridiculously bright blue eyes.

"Hello."

His voice sounded like gravel, deep and steady. Dean felt his stomach plummet and looked right up into the stranger's eyes. His mouth felt dry, so he licked his lips. The gaze was electric, he felt like this guy could see straight through to his soul. For a second he forgot how to speak, but then he laughed softly, low in his chest, strangely bashful. This wasn't like him, but damn was this guy weird. "I'm your nurse for today. Name's Dean. Just gotta slap a new band-aid on your boo-boos, here. How're you feelin'?"

"I am.. fine. Hello, Dean." Damn, that voice again. Was this guy serious? Nobody talked like that.

"Dude, you just got shot. Scale of one to ten, how's it going?" Dean gingerly peeled back the bandages, concerned with Cas' pain. Cas only shook his head, but his eyes never left Dean's face. He looked mesmerized, okay, weird. Dean peeked over at the morphine drip. Had to be high. Nobody was this dreamy.

"No, I've been through much worse. I have a high tolerance for pain."

"Okey dokey, if you say so. Big tough guy, huh?" Dean teased. He expected Cas to wince as he cleaned away some of the blood with a moist towelette. Not even a flinch.

"I suppose it's a requirement, being an officer of the law." Cas' eyes were boring a fucking hole into Dean's face.

"You talk funny," was all Dean could sputter. He cleaned off the last of the dry blood. The bleeding must have happened overnight.

"Mm."

And then nothing but awkward silence.

Great. Dean busied himself, trying to figure out how to resuscitate the conversation before he had to go. "You need anything?" he asked.

"Yes... when is breakfast?"

"Ah, bout an hour. Somebody'll swing by and bring you something."

"When will you come back?" Cas' eyes were crazy blue. Dean looked up as he taped the gauze in place over his stitches, surprised.

"Me? You got the button on your bed, you need anything, just hit me up."

Cas looked relieved. His eyes softened, and he visibly relaxed. "Thank you."

"No problemo. Any more questions?"

"Just.. thank you." He sounded so fucking sincere. Dean shot him a big grin, straightening up real tall, feeling like a goddamn hero. Moments like this were the reason why he had become a nurse in the first place.

"Just doin' my job. See you soon, get some more sleep, because I can tell you there's nothin' good on TV until at least ten o'clock, unless you like the news."

"Yes."

Okay, sudden abrupt silence again. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from those soulsuckers and headed for the door.

"...Yeah. Seeya.."

"Goodbye, Dean."

"For now."

Okay. That was weird. Dean shut the door behind himself, and headed to check on his next patient. Definitely weird.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Dean dreamed about the patient in Room 12B with the deep blue eyes, and to be honest, he slept like a damn baby too. Well, at first anyway. In his dream, Cas was sitting there in his hospital bed, and he told Dean an elaborate story about how he chased down the clown from "IT" and popped a cap in his ass. Dean listened, amused, and consoled Cas that there weren't any clowns in the hospital. He remembered his little brother Sammy, who he hadn't spoke to in years, and told Cas about how he'd ditched Dean and his dad for Stanford and became a bigshot lawyer. Somehow, in Dean's head, Cas wound up morphing into Sam, who cried on Dean's shoulder and told him that he was so sorry for leaving. He just held him and rubbed his back, but when he looked over Sam's shoulder to the door, he saw a single balloon float through.

Dean jolted awake. He wasn't even scared of clowns, but dreams feel pretty damn real when you're in them, and he did not appreciate being woken up by some psycho killer carnie.

When he opened the door to Cas' room that morning, the TV was on low volume and a short newscaster with an impeccable haircut was reading the news report. Cas was sitting there, his eyes on the screen, just like in his dream. He remembered his dream and curiosity struck him.

"Morning, Cas. How's it going?"

"Dean," Cas said softly, looking up with a hint of relief and excitement, "Hello."

"Hey, buddy. Happy to see me, huh?" Dean set down a small container of jello on the moveable table by Cas' bed. "Brought you a little something. Think you could sit up for me? I gotta check you out."

"You... want to check me out?" Cas inquired. He shifted in the bed, sitting up for Dean, grunting softly as he moved. Dean laughed, Cas looked perplexed.

"...Thank you for the jello. The night nurse wasn't as kind." Cas was eyeing Dean, watching him as his fingers gently took Cas' arm in hand, inspecting his wound. Dean's eyes flickered up to meet his.

"Oh yeah? That's Nurse Betty. She's kinda cranky most of the time. Don't take it to heart, she's kinda a hag." Cas smiled at Dean's statement, just slightly. Dean lowered his eyes and carefully started work on changing his old bandages. Cas just kept right on staring.

"She's not as gentle as you. She wouldn't fluff my pillow for me either."

Dean smiled at that. Of course she wouldn't. "I can get you another one if you want. We're not supposed to, but I think I can make an exception."

"I'd like that. Thank you."

"You think I'm gentle?"

"Very much."

Dean looked up at him again.

"Nurses ought to be," Cas murmured. Dean didn't know if he'd ever get used to that deep voice.

"Guess so. Hey, Cas. I was wondering... how'd you get shot?"

Cas grunted. He closed his eyes, leaning back after Dean finished re-bandaging his shoulder.

"What happened to the other guy?" Dean pulled up a chair and parked himself next to Cas' bed.

"The suspects are in prison," Cas murmured, keeping his eyes closed. Dean tilted his head to the left, curious.

"So, what happened?"

"I was just doing my job."

Dean watched Cas, disappointed when he didn't continue. He looked down at the checkered floor tile, maroon on white. There was a twisted crack that ran across three tiles and under Cas' bed. He followed it with his eyes and found them drawn back up to where Cas laid, and let out a soft sigh. Obviously he didn't want to talk about it, but that didn't stop Dean from pushing anyway. "Yeah, but, what happened? I want the dirty deets."

Cas shifted, reaching for the jello. He went to pull back the foil on the lid, wincing when he tried to move his right arm. Dean snagged the cup out of his hand and pulled it back for him. "Easy. You didn't even start physical therapy yet."

"Are you going to feed me?"

Dean laughed at that. He picked up the spoon and stuck it into the green jello, raising it to Cas' lips. "If you want. Eat up." Cas leaned his head forward slightly to meet the spoon. His eyes locked on Dean's as he swallowed it down, and Dean watched his adam's apple bob. His throat suddenly felt very dry and he shimmied to the edge of his chair, the slightly rusted wheels screeching dully on the hard floor. His head felt fuzzy, the sound of hospital monitors beeping robotically droned on, drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. Dean quickly reloaded the spoon. When he brought the spoon back to Cas' lips, however, Cas stopped, frozen. His eyes glazed over slightly, moving up to the television mounted on the wall. Dean followed Cas' gaze, and immediately recognized the man on the screen.

An image of Cas in his police uniform flashed onto the tv, a caption displaying beneath the photograph. Castiel St. James. Police officer and local hero. Dean quirked an eyebrow. Castiel looked uncomfortable.

"Hey, check it out!" Dean piped up, sitting up straight in his interest, "Local hero, huh!"

Cas grunted. "It's nothing. They're exaggerating. I was only-" Dean cut him off with a sharp "Shh!", at the edge of the seat. He couldn't wait to hear what they said about Cas' story. He grabbed the remote and cranked the volume up to max.

The photo of Cas shrunk to the corner of the screen, displaying two newscasters, an attractive, thirty-something blonde woman with a short bob and a slightly older man with a thin mustache. The woman was speaking, shuffling her papers in her hands.

"...was on a drug bust with police partner Officer Balthazar, when he realized that the children of the perpetrators were inside." Images of two loveable, adorable children flashed on the screen. A girl, about nine years old, with long brown hair, hugging her curly-haired little brother, about six. He clutched a worn teddy bear in his arms and was looking a little startled. The girl had a huge grin on her face. The picture lingered for a couple seconds before changing to another. In this one, Castiel was carrying the boy outside, cradled in one arm, with the girl following close by his side. Cas slumped slightly to one side and Dean recognized his shoulder wound. He glanced over at the real Cas who sat beside him. He was looking away, focused on the window, watching a sparrow perching in a low tree outside. Dean grinned and returned his attention back to the newscast.

"...He bravely rushed into the building and took out all five criminals single-handedly. The suspects are awaiting persecution and may receive up to twenty years in prison. Officer St. James is currently being hospitalized at Mercy Hospital for a bullet wound to the shoulder. He's expected to recover in three to five weeks, but I'd say for a guy who was so outnumbered, he did pretty damn well, wouldn't you, Fernando?" She looked over at her news partner, clearly impressed. He flashed a short smile and gave a nod. "Yes, Darlene. A real hero."

A smile had spread onto Dean's face as soon as the report had begun, but at this point it was a full-blown cheshire grin. He quickly muted the speakers and leaned forward, closer to Cas' bed.

"So. A real hero."

"My colleagues would beg to differ. I'm suspended for two months." Cas still wasn't looking at him. Dean lowered the cup of jello back to the table and braced his hands on his knees to lean closer still.

"Suspended? The hell for? You were just doing your job!" Dean looked downright insulted. Cas shook his head, finally glancing back at Dean.

"No. We were supposed to wait for backup, but I broke protocol and went in alone. It was foolish, reckless, and I regret it."

Dean scoffed.

"I'm serious. I was scolded quite harshly."

"But you weren't fired. That's cause they know you did good," Dean interjected. He didn't want to see Cas' hopes crushed, but Cas didn't look very convinced. "Hey, seriously. That's freakin' awesome. Five guys? With guns and crap?"

"Only three of the men were armed." He was being completely serious.

"Three? Holy crap. Look, maybe it's not a big deal to you, because you're such a bad-ass or something, but that is intense for normal people! I would pay to see that fight. Anyway, you'll be back to work in no time, and you'll be fully healed by then anyway. You deserve some time off after that." Dean popped up when he was interrupted by a knocking on the door. Cas looked up as well, followed Dean as he went over to answer the door.

"Thank you, Dean." Cas muttered. Dean glanced back and flashed a smile as he pulled open the door. "No problemo."

He turned back to the door, looking over the man standing there. He was dressed in a tight black jacket and a grey v-neck t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a pair of boots. He was older, but he smelled like a twenty-something. Dean's eyes were immediately watering from the smell of his cologne. He must bathe in the stuff or something, because it was suddenly filling the entire room.

"Balthazar..." Cas looked up, and Baz nodded at him in response. He strolled past Dean, clutching a bouquet more of baby's breath than of lavender.

"The one and only." Dean quirked an eyebrow at his accent. Baz turned around to point at him. "Hello, nurse. Bit of a woman's job, isn't it?" Dean opened his mouth to protest, immediately disgruntled and insulted, but it was Cas who spoke first.

"No." Baz laughed. Cas frowned, not looking very amused.

Dean spoke up defiantly. "Like hell it ain't. Shouldn't be so picky about who's taking care of you, you never know when you're gonna need a nurse, buddy."

Balthazar laughed at that. He set the flowers down on the table next to Cas' bed and crossed his arms. "I prefer my nurses in heels and a low-cut top with one of those little caps." He smirked up at Dean, who placed his hands on his hips, determined to make himself look bigger.

"Yeah, in your dreams, buddy. You couldn't handle me in a skirt."

Cas chuckled quietly. Dean caught his eye and grinned, and with that, left the room triumphantly. Cas' smile faded slightly, and he looked over to Balthazar. "Could you shut the door?"

"Not a problem." Balthazar crossed the room swiftly and pushed the door shut, then made his way back to Cas' side. "So, the nurses treating you well? Or do I have to kick some major behind?"

"It's fine. Thank you," Cas spoke quietly, his voice very low and very serious. Baz could swear he was a damn robot.

"It better be. Oh, do you like the flowers? They're supposed to be lucky, you know. I'm wishing you a very speedy recovery. I don't do too well without my partner. I'm going to be all partied out without you there beside me, to be my little buzzkill." He brushed back Cas' hair, fingers curling over his forehead, an amused grin on his face. Cas turned his face to the side, pushed his hand away with his good arm.

"Thank you, Balthazar. Yes, I heal quickly. I'll be back before you realize."

"Bashful, ah? How sweet. Well then, you'd be back sooner if you didn't always rush forward. You're like a bull on the job, you know, you see red. You need to learn impulse control, you need to relax. How about... mm. When you get out of here, I'm taking you out for drinks. My treat."

Cas was eyeing him uncertainly. "No, I'm... fine. That won't be necessary." Balthazar interrupted him immediately. "Of course it's necessary, and I won't take no for an answer! Honestly, Cas. You need to loosen up. I know some ladies that would absolutely love you. Or boys, that's fine. I saw you checking out that nurse."

"I wasn't..." Cas started, but never finished. Baz laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back on his heels. "You were!"

"I wasn't."

"Right, you were just gazing longingly. I don't blame you, that face could charm a eunich."

"Balthazar."

"So serious, aren't we. Right, well, I've got to go. I've got a date with three lovely brunettes tonight, it's going to be a smash. Try not to die while you're in here, would you?" He planted his feet firmly on the ground. Cas shifted in his bed and picked up the cup of jello, turning the cup in his hands, distracted.

"I'll do my best. Try not to die without me." Baz laughed at that. Cas looked up and offered him a small smile, and Baz nodded back at him.

"Right. I'll try. I'll see you soon, Cassie." He saluted his friend and headed for the door. Cas just sighed and finished off his jello. He thought about his job and was glad he wasn't fired. He was glad he had Balthazar as a partner, really, because he did keep him grounded. They were so different, with Cas so serious and Baz so... flamboyant, that they wound up balancing quite well. Cas played bad cop, Baz played good cop, and it worked for them. They had been partners for a long time, and Cas was quite fond of his friend.

He hoped Balthazar would come back to visit him again soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean strutted into Cas' room later that day with a big smile and a box under his arm. Cas looked up fron the television screen. Dean had just been by fifteen minutes earlier to adjust Cas' arm brace and take his temperature, and Cas looked surprised and pleased to see him again so soon. Dean shut the door and booked to Cas' bedside.

"How's it going? Check out what I snagged." He sat down, set the box on the table and pulled out a small checkers board, setting it up between them.

Cas' brow furrowed and he looked up at Dean curiously. "What's that...?"

"Checkers." Dean laid the black checkers down in front of himself, red in front of Cas. "You wanna move first?" Cas looked confused for a moment, and he slowly shook his head. Dean let out a soft, happy sigh and moved one of his pieces to another square. Cas stared at the board a moment before raising a pair of questioning eyes to Dean's face.

"You gonna go or what?"

Cas looked down at the board a moment, before mirroring Dean's move. Dean shifted forward to the edge of his seat and moved again.

"I figured you'd be pretty bored, stuck in here. Good thing you had some company. All those police dudes in and out the past couple days."

Cas grunted in response. He hesitated a moment and moved another checker. Dean immediately jumped the piece and removed it from the board, eliciting a confused squint from Cas. "Way too easy. Thought detectives were supposed to be smart."

"They are."

Dean chuckled. He waited for Cas to move again, watched him slide a red circle towards him uncertainly. "Well, you're pretty damn shitty at checkers."

"I don't usually play board games."

"Yeah, I can tell." Dean made his move, Cas made his, and Dean jumped him again.

The rest of the game was over quickly, and Dean jumped up out of his chair and thrust his fists in the air triumphantly when he won. Cas sat there watching calmly, relaxed in his bed, and didn't interrupt. After a minute Dean calmed down and laid his palms flat on the table.

"And that is how it is done, my friend."

Cas' eyes were drawn to Dean's lips, to the sly smirk on his face. His eyes were glowing brightly at the statement. Dean had called him his friend.

A sharp knock on the door. Dean closed the box quickly and shoved it into a drawer right as the door opened.

"Ah, I'm sorry." Castiel's doctor, Joseph Taylor. "Am I interrupting?"

"Nope, just on my way out." Dean quickly headed towards the door as Taylor stepped inside. The doctor's eyes followed him.

"You still owe me that six-pack, Dean. Don't think I forgot."

Dean pouted, Cas looked up curiously.

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get your beer." Embarrassed, he rushed from the room before Cas could make an inquiring statement.

Dean chose to spend his lunch break in Castiel's room. They were three games into Dean's easiest game of Checkers ever when Cas tried to move a checker in the wrong direction.

"No, Cas.. checkers don't move like that. You even know how to play?"

Silence. Dean looked up from the board, waited for him to speak. Realization dawned on him like a brick in the face and he spent the next minute and a half laughing at Cas' expense.

"Dude. What kind of sick, depraved childhood did you have?"

"I told you. I'm not partial to board games."

"Yeah, but everyone knows how to play checkers! That is so weird. Blasphemy, man. I'm going to teach you."

And so he did. Dean lost no time in teaching Cas the proper way to play checkers, but even after ten games he was still losing every time. This didn't deter either of them, however, and they spent their days playing the game regardless of the fact.

"I played a six-year old last week who was better'n you." Dean was killing Cas at this game, it wasn't even fair. It was a complete and utter slaughter. Cas didn't seem to really mind.

"Must be quite a gifted child."

Dean laughed. He swallowed down the rest of his sandwich and picked up the jello he'd brought Cas for lunch. "You want this?"

"I prefer the green."

"Green, huh? Well, I brought you red 'cause it's my favorite. I'll bring you the green one next time. Fair deal?"

Cas nodded. Dean fed him a bite and watched Cas finally reach the opposite end of the board. He kinged him and took his own move. Cas sighed softly and moved forward. He lost the king three turns later.

"Jello's great though. Oh, man. I love it. My little brother Sam, though, he hates the stuff. Lost his tonsils when we were growin' up and he had to eat jello for like two weeks." He let Cas take another spoonful and leaned back to watch him consider his moves.

"I see. Isn't it usually ice cream?" Cas concentrated on the board, thoughtful for a minute before taking his turn. Dean shrugged and countered.

"Yeah. But we were stayin' in a motel, so it had to be jello or else it woulda melted. He's not big on sweets or anything anyway. More for me, though, y'know?"

Cas grunted. He looked up at Dean, curious. "Why were you in a motel room?"

"Oh. We uh, moved around a lot when I was a kid. My dad was doing weird jobs and shit, so we were never in one place too long. Just couldn't afford it."

"I see. Did you not see your father often?"

Dean shrugged. He stared down at the checkers board, a little uncomfortable, remembering all the times he'd been left alone with Sam. "I guess not. But he had to work real hard, so it's cool. We got by."

"What about your mother?"

Dean frowned to himself even further. He dragged a hand through his hair, clearly distraught. Cas watched Dean, who sat there in silence for a beat.

"Your turn."

Cas stared down at the board. He slid a red piece to another square when Dean spoke up again. "She died when I was little. House burnt down. So."

Silence. Cas looked up at him, his eyes sad and concerned. "Dean. I am sorry."

"Yeah, well, you didn't do it. What about you? How's the family life? Wife, kids?" Dean leaned forward and focused back on the game.

"No." Cas wouldn't move his eyes away from Dean. "I don't have a mother either, and my father's been missing for years. But I have three brothers."

"Gees. You the oldest, or what?" Dean looked a little better, his eyes a little less sad. He was really good at hiding how he felt. Sometimes.

Cas shook his head. "No. I'm the youngest."

Dean smiled. "The baby. I got it. Were your brothers real pricks?"

"At times, they could be." Dean won the game, and Cas started another. "But they are my brothers, nonetheless. I suppose Nicholas is the worst. Michael is more serious, and Gabriel is very... loud."

"And you're quiet."

"I don't need to overcompensate."

Dean laughed. "Oh, yeah? Good for you."

Cas was staring at the board, and he finally saw it. If he moved that one piece to the right, he could trap Dean's piece and he'd have no choice but to surrender. He went to move, but his hand froze above the board.

He didn't want to win. Cas shifted his arm and moved the piece to the left.

Dean had been looking pretty cheery after winning the last game, and Cas liked seeing that. If it meant Dean thought he was the worst checkers player ever, then that was worth it. Not that Dean wasn't good at checkers anyway. Cas was slightly baffled, and he wondered to himself why he cared so much to see Dean happy. Dean was oblivious, and the game continued as normal.

"Tell me more about your brothers."

Cas was looking very serious now, his eyes never leaving the board. "Michael is the oldest. He's CEO for a company that manufactures weapons for the military. Nicholas is a lawyer and Gabriel works in PR."

Dean's curiosity piqued, and he glanced up at Cas, amused. "Hey, that's funny, 'cause my brother Sammy is a laywer, too. Maybe they know each other."

"Maybe you should ask him." Cas looked up at Dean. "I wouldn't know. It's been a long time since I spoke with him." Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I couldn't. I haven't even talked to the kid since he left for college."

Cas looked confused. "Why not?"

"Kinda walked out on me'n my dad." Dean shrugged. "He didn't want anything to do with us anymore. So..whatever. Screw him, I guess." He was trying to act like he didn't care, but he looked pretty disappointed. "I mean, I tried talkin' to him a couple years ago, 'round when my dad went missing. But he was real busy with school shit, and we never found him anyway, so I just told him to go back to his crap. He didn't even invite me to his wedding."

Cas frowned. "That's not very nice."

"Nope."

Dean beat Cas again and sighed in frustration. "That's it, I'm putting the TV on." He pushed the table to the side and turned on the tv, flipping through the infomercials until he found a movie. The only thing on was Spy Kids. That would have to do, anything to relieve the tension in the room.

Cas looked perplexed by the henchmen on the screen who instead of limbs and a head, seemed to be made up entirely of thumbs. Dean laughed as one of them smacked into a closed glass door. It left a smile on Cas' face and he spent most of the movie watching Dean react and listening to his commentary. Dean kept on catching him staring, but not once did Cas look away. It made Dean feel awkward so he made even more bad jokes.

Dean loved spending time with Cas, but it wasn't always fun. Because of the bullet wound, he had to help Cas through his physical therapy and watch him struggle as his arm healed. Cas was so tough, and Dean didn't see very many people with such a strong drive, but he wasn't immune to pain. He pushed himself so hard, and by the time they were done, Cas was sweating, his jaw set as he grit his teeth together tightly. Dean hated watching other people in pain.

He stayed by Cas' side, fed him jello and watched reruns on the old television monitor. He told him jokes, watched him relax and tried to make him feel a little better, and Cas really appreciated Dean's company.

On Friday morning, Cas was visited by the two children he rescued. Dean came in to take his temperature when he saw the young girl sitting by Cas' bed with stars in her eyes. The boy was curled up in another chair by the window, looking quite shy. Dean quirked his eyebrow, immediately turned and left the room.

He returned with two lollipops and a bunch of stickers shoved in his shirt pocket. "Hey! Who's this?"

The girl looked up, surprised. "Hi!" She smiled at Dean. The boy just stared. He handed them both a lollipop and leaned against the sink coolly.

"I'm Nurse Dean. What're your names?"

"I'm Nancy and that's my brother Daniel."

"That's a real pretty name. You know, there's this chick named Nancy Wilson, real cool chick. Plays guitar and everything."

The girl looked pleased. She bounced in her seat a little. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. She's a rock star." Dean said it with an air of mystery. He pulled out the stickers, holding them up. "I got these too."

She picked them from his fingers and gave one to her brother. "Cool! Thank you."

Cas watched on fondly, looking down in amusement when the girl placed a sticker of a kitten floating on a cloud on Cas' chest.

"Yep." He walked to Cas' side, amused. "How pretty."

"..Thank you," Cas murmured, poking the sticker. He looked up as Dean removed the stethoscope from around his neck.

"You wanna do some doctor stuff?"

The little boy hopped off his chair and rushed forward, excited. Nancy looked eager, too. A long chorus of 'me''s came streaming from their mouths, and Dean laughed softly.

"Easy, everybody gets a turn." Dean set the stethoscope around Daniel's neck and set the other end on Cas' chest. "Deep breaths, detective." The kid's eyes lit up as he listened to the sound of Cas breathing. Dean watched on, amused, and then let the girl take a turn, too. He showed them the equipment and was telling them about how some of it worked when their foster parents showed up and ushered them away.

Dean shut the door after they left and grinned over at Cas, who looked fairly impressed by Dean's antics. "You're quite good with children."

"You think?" Dean was sucking on his own lollipop now, the bright red staining his lips a little pinker.

"I do."

"Yeah, well, I think little Nancy had a big old crush on you. She was practically on cloud nine." Dean grinned, amused. Cas shook his head, a little embarrassed.

"No.. clearly she liked you better."

"You saved her life. Don't be modest, you're her hero."

"I'm not a hero." Cas was gazing at Dean, watching his tongue on the hard candy. Dean sucked a little harder, shook his head.

"You're nuts." He came over, pressed a yellow lollipop into Cas' hand, curled his fingers around the stick for him. "Shift's over. I'll see you Monday, cool?"

Cas looked disappointed. He didn't like the prospect of not seeing Dean for another two days. He spoke up.

"Maybe we should go out some time. Outside of the hospital, I mean. Once my arm is healed."

Dean cocked his head slightly, thinking it over. It didn't even occur to him that Cas might be asking him on a date, because he automatically translated it to just two dudes hanging out.

"Yeah, sure. We'll get drinks sometime. Seeya later, okay?"

Cas relaxed. His stomach felt a little warmer. "Okay, Dean."

The night Cas was discharged from the hospital, Dean took him out to his favorite bar. In the weeks that followed, they spent a lot more time together than Dean had spent with anyone in a long time. He might've just found himself a new best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime in February, Dean started getting packages at work. The first time it was a big box of mixed candy: chocolates and hard caramels. There was no note or evidence of any kind, and none of the other nurses knew where it had come from. Dean shrugged and wondered, but he ate the whole box in less than an hour.

It wasn't always candy. Dean got other things, too, like a Metallica T-Shirt, a whole cherry pie and a lighter shaped like a revolver. Dean didn't even smoke, but he thought it was the coolest lighter he'd ever seen and he kept it in the glovebox of the Impala. The rest of the staff teased him relentlessly about his mystery gifter, especially when the delivery man strolled through on a Thursday morning clutching a large bouquet of flowers. Dean looked on, mortified, refused to sign for the package. Dr. Taylor was making his way down the hall, and he smirked as Dean struggled with a place to hide the huge floral arrangement.

"Flowers from your boyfriend?"

Dean frowned, blushing brightly. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Ha-ha, very funny."

Taylor only strolled away, wearing that sly smirk, and laughed as Dean simmered.

"It's getting ridiculous," Dean told Cas later that night, as they were out at a bowling alley. Cas focused on the pins, holding his ball incorrectly. He turned to look at Dean, distracted from his aim.

"What, Dean?"

Dean stretched out in his seat, leaned back and kicked his legs forward. "The chick sent me flowers. I mean, she knows I'm a dude, right?"

"What chick?" Cas turned back to the bowling lane. He held the ball up again.

"The chick who's been sending me presents for the past couple months? Where've you been, dude? Do you even listen when I talk?" Dean looked a little betrayed. Cas scowled back at him.

"Yes. I didn't realize you were talking about that. What makes you think it's a woman?"

Dean blinked. "You know, they keep saying that. I dunno, maybe because I'm not gay?"

Cas drew his arm back, then forward, and let the ball go. It rolled right into the gutter. He scowled and took a step back. Dean hopped out of his seat, grabbing a blue and black ball from the return machine.

He was aiming down the lane when Cas spoke up, throwing him off as he threw the ball.

"It doesn't matter."

Dean's ball rolled into the gutter. He cursed under his breath and turned to face Cas, almost knocking into him. He jumped slightly, startled. Cas was just inches away from Dean's face.

He took a slow step back and cleared his throat. "Dude. You gotta stop doing that." Cas lowered his eyes and moved back, muttering a 'sorry'. Dean ambled forward to retrieve his ball and take another shot.

After a few months, Dean had had enough of Cas' wardrobe. "What are you wearing? Man, Cas, do you even own a pair of jeans?" Cas looked down at his blue button-down shirt and slacks, brow furrowed.

"What's wrong with my clothing?"

"You need to loosen up, dude. You're way too clean-cut. I think I've seen you wear sweatpants like once."

"Why would I wear them if I wasn't working out?" Cas was confused. Dean shook his head, pulled Cas down the street and towards his car.

"That's it. We're going shopping."

Three shopping bags full later and Cas was fumbling with his house keys at the door to his apartment. "I didn't have time to clean."

"Yeah, whatever, no problem. First impression ain't that big of a deal, right?"

Cas looked up at Dean, who laughed. "Joking. Show me the goods already." He took one of Cas' bags off his arm so he could open the door more easily.

And boy, Cas wasn't kidding. Dean followed him inside and took a look around. It was very bare, but very messy. A two-seat sofa sat pressed against the wall, covered with stacks of paper, which also littered the desk beside it. Piles of police reports and books were all over the place, a lamp with a busted shade resting on a scratched wooden table. Dean quirked an eyebrow, moved down a hallway, looking over the blank white walls. No decoration, no photographs, just emptiness. It felt very cold and empty, despite the mess in the living room.

The bathroom was fairly clean, but Cas' bedroom was another story. His bed hadn't been made, and his laundry laid on the floor beside it. Dean dropped onto Cas' bed, laid back and stretched his arms over his head. It was super firm, but pretty comfy. Cas followed after him, clutching the bags.

"I told you." Cas set the bags down and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. Dean only chuckled.

"My place ain't that much better, honestly."

Cas relaxed. He put his palms down on the edge of the bed and hunched his shoulders a bit, nodding. Dean popped up beside him.

"You don't even have a TV. What's up with that?"

Cas shrugged. Dean nudged his arm.

"You gotta get one."

"I suppose. If you'll come over and watch it with me." He glanced at Dean, locked eyes with him. Dean shrugged, leaned back on his palms.

"Yeah, sure."

They spent the rest of the night talking. Dean had gotten fairly comfortable on Cas' bed, kicking off his boots and leaning back against the pillows. Cas stayed perched on the edge, his body turned to watch Dean as he spoke.

"And I guess I became a nurse in the first place for the tail, y'know? Because I thought, hey, chick city. But uh, I didn't have a lot of luck in school. I mean, sometimes. I didn't do that good in high school, so I had to get my GED, and getting into college was like hell. But uh, nurses, man, they're nuts. They aren't like normal girls. They're way smart, and way tough, like super-women or something. Maybe it's just me, I dunno, but they are way harder to score than the women I pick up in bars."

Cas hadn't even spoken for forty-five minutes but he hadn't cared until now. He didn't really enjoy listening to Dean talk about his love life.

"What about that woman you were kissing at the bar? I suppose she's not a nurse."

"Who? Oh." Dean scratched his head. "Yeah, I dunno. I don't really remember her name."

"I thought she was your girlfriend."

Dean laughed at that. "I don't have a girlfriend, Cas. I would've told you."

Cas nodded. He looked away, still not feeling much better.

"Looking good, Dean," Taylor catcalled as Dean stomped down a hospital hallway, his shirt soaked through. He whirled around, narrowed his eyes when Dr. Dicknose whistled at him.

"I always look good," he countered, peeled his wet shirt away from his chest. Taylor laughed softly, his voice low and smooth like chocolate.

"You do." The statement confused the hell out of Dean. Was this guy being serious?

"Uh.."

"What happened?" He walked closer, invading Dean's personal bubble.

"I was bathing a patient when he had a seizure. He's okay now. You want something?" He backed up, bumped into a nurse rushing by, apologizing as she scurried off. Taylor watched Dean, wearing his game face.

"How about a date?"

Dean's head snapped up. He looked surprised for a second, then he laughed, loud, right in Taylor's face. Taylor watched him, expression unchanging. Dean shook his head.

"No way, man. I'm not gay. Who told you that? I mean, I'm flattered, but no." Dean nudged him back a little. Taylor stepped forward again.

"Consider it."

Dean shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but Taylor was already strolling past him, down the hall. "I won't!" Dean called after him, pouting as he watched Taylor round the corner. What a prick, he thought. Even if I was gay, I wouldn't go for that blonde bimbo. I don't care how bright his damn smile is.

The phone rang eight times. Cas knew because he counted, sitting on the edge of his bed at eight o' clock at night, waiting for an answer on the other end. His back straightened when he heard a soft click and a voice finally answer.

"Sam Winchester."

Cas licked his lips. His eyes sparked, imagining how pleased Dean would be to hear from his brother for the first time in years.

"Hello, Sam. I'm Castiel. I'm a friend of your brother's."

Silence on the other end. Cas squinted a little, listening harder, wondering if the call had been dropped. "Hello?"

"...Dean? You're Dean's friend?"

"Yes."

"Is he okay? Did something happen?" Sam's voice switched from confused to concerned. Cas stood up and walked to the other end of the room, looking out the window.

"No," Cas said quickly, "He's fine."

"Why are you calling...?"

Cas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He leaned closer to the window. "I was wondering if you'd like to see your brother again. He talks about you a lot.."

"I'm pretty busy, Cas.. uh, Castiel? Can you tell him that?" Sam was trying to be polite, but he was getting a little annoyed, too.

"He wanted to see you."

"Then maybe he should've called me himself."

"I'll tell him."

"I don't want to see him!" The annoyance had won over. Sam grew very quiet. "I'm sorry. Look, I've gotta go. Please don't call me again."

Cas listened to the phone click, pulled it away from his ear and frowned down at the glowing screen, telling him 'CALL END'.

Two hours later, and Cas and Dean were stretched out on the hood of the impala, drinking beer and looking up at the sparkling night sky.

Dean's phone had died so he had borrowed Cas' to make a phone call to work, when he decided to be nosy. The call ended and instead of handing the phone back over, went straight to Cas' texts. The guy didn't understand texting or shorthand at all, and majority of his texts were to Dean anyway. Okay, boring. Dean checked out his contacts, mostly work related. A couple women, Dean recognized the name of Cas' boss, Anna Milton. He checked the call history.

Dean frowned. He looked over at Cas.

"..That's Sam's number. Why did you call my brother?"

Cas looked up, the beer raised in his hand, hovering a few inches from his lips. He lowered it slowly. "I wasn't going to tell you."

"He's my brother, Cas. What the hell?" Dean was not pleased. Cas looked frozen.

"I thought maybe you could talk again. It just seemed like you missed him."

Dean watched him, searched him for sincerity. It sure as hell didn't make Dean any less angry. He slid off the hood of the car, troubled.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I was just trying to make you happy."

"Why? Why do you care if I'm happy or not? It's none'a your business. You just stay out of it." Cas stared at Dean's back, felt his eyes water a little. Instead he hardened his gaze, puffed his chest out and channeled his emotion into a dark, brewing anger deep in his gut instead. But Dean had turned, caught the change in Castiel's face, and he let out a soft sigh. "It's fine, Cas. Just... don't bug Sam. He's got other shit to worry about besides me." He sat back down beside Cas, the car sinking a little under his weight and into the soft grass beneath them. Cas relaxed and offered Dean another beer, and he took it gladly.

"Thanks."

Cas nodded and they drank together. They looked back to the stars and listened to the sounds of cars in the distance, crickets chirping together in chorus. The rest of the night was spent drinking and laughing, Dean more than Cas, and Cas drove Dean back to his messy apartment and let him sleep in his bed. In the morning, he made breakfast and nursed Dean's hangover away. Dean drank all Cas' orange juice. Cas didn't care. He told Dean to come over more often.

"I'd be happy to oblige."

Something sparked in Cas' eyes when Dean said that, but Dean didn't notice, too engrossed with stuffing his face with burnt toast and undercooked eggs. He was definitely cooking next time, because Cas was lousy at it, but that was alright. He kind of liked being pampered, and it worked because Cas liked taking care of Dean. It was nice, though Dean was far from used to it. Cas, however, planned on making a habit of it.


	5. Chapter 5

"That poor sandwich," Balthazar commented, as he watched Dean scarf down a large chicken sub. They sat in a small diner, walls lined with red and white ceramic tile. Dean was sitting in a booth across from Balthazar, a piece of lettuce hanging from his lip as he chewed a huge mouthful of food. He wiped it away with a napkin and swallowed some of his beer.

"Yeah, shove it."

Balthazar leaned back, looking out the window to where Cas stood outside, taking a phone call. He looked thoughtful.

"You know... if you're trying to impress him, you're going to need to go on a diet. Cassie has rather high standards."

Dean looked at the sandwich. "Well, none of my girlfriends ever complained." He took another big bite. Balthazar laughed softly.

"Cas isn't just any old woman, now, is he? I'm sure they were too busy suffocating under your crushing weight, regardless."

Dean scowled. He swallowed the sandwich and set it down. "Yeah, and I'm still better looking than you."

"We're not talking about me, Dean. I'm trying to help you with a bit of advice."

"I don't need your advice. And I'm not gay anyway."

"If you insist." Baz stood, dropped a twenty on the table. "Well, I should go. I'll see you later, Dean. After all, you're hard to miss."

"Enough with the fat jokes! This sandwich is awesome and you're just jealous." Dean pouted as Balthazar strolled out the door. Dean wasn't feeling so hungry anymore. It wasn't even like he was fat, but he wasn't exactly in shape either. His job as a nurse was pretty demanding most of the time, and he spent almost all his free time hanging out with Cas.

Growing up, Dean had liked gym and he liked sports, but he was busy taking care of his little brother a lot, which didn't leave much time for Dean to work on his body. His father John was barely home, always working odd jobs and odd hours. Sure, he'd taught him how to punch, once, not that Dean could even remember. He'd left Dean to fend for himself. Now, Dean had been thinner when he was younger, but all the beer and burgers were finally catching up to him. Not to mention, his metabolism wasn't quite like it used to be now that he was getting older. Dean longed for the days when he could eat an entire deluxe pizza and his pants still fit in the morning.

But he still wasn't _fat_. Baz must just have really high standards or over-exaggerate to the max. His body was a little soft in places, but so what? The ladies still loved him. Somehow, it stilled bothered him.

So, one week later, Dean started going to the gym. His friend Jo Harvelle had gotten sick of hearing him complain about Balthazar's constant teasing and how he felt like the other male nurse, Rodrigo, was judging him for eating twinkies. She'd finally heard enough, and she dragged his ass down to the small gym just three blocks from the hospital Dean worked at.

They were only on the treadmills for a few minutes when Dean started bitching. He gripped the handles on the sides, panting and groaning in annoyance. "This fuckin' blows."

"Don't pussy out, Dean." Jo was focused, keeping a steady pace, which was much brisker than Dean's. Dean groaned lowly and slumped forward as he jogged.

"Fuck this."

He didn't quit though, he kept pushing, but he was going to complain the whole way through.

"This is the least fun I ever had sweating so much. I know a better way we could get worked up, if you want-"

"Keep running."

"Okay."

Jo rolled her eyes. At least he wasn't staring at her ass anymore. When she had picked Dean up from work, the first thing he did was comment on her outfit. Shorts and a tank-top were pretty typical for workout clothes, as far as she remembered. Dean, on the other hand, was stupid enough to think he could do this in jeans. Thankfully, Jo was smart enough to bring him a pair of sweatpants because she knew Dean wouldn't be bright enough to remember. She looked over at him. Dean looked like he was dying.

The timer on his watch beeped.

"Thank you, baby Jesus!" Dean smacked the off switch and stumbled off the machine. Jo kept on going, barely breaking a sweat. She watched Dean chug an entire bottle of water and shook her head in amusement.

"Way to go, Dean. Take five, then weights, too, okay?"

Dean grumbled. He plopped down on a bench.

"I'm gonna be dead by the end of the week," he complained. Jo rolled her eyes.

"You wanted to work out, remember? Do you want to get in shape or what?"

"I am in shape. I wanna be _more_ in shape," he groaned, defensive.

"Okay, okay. Well, it still stands. Quit being a baby."

Dean grumbled and stretched his legs out. This was going to suck.

* * *

He stretched out beside Jo later, on the soft grass at the park next to the gym. His muscles ached and he was so tired, but he felt pretty good about himself. Dean picked absently at the grass, looked up at Jo who stretched forward to touch her toes.

"Thanks, Jo."

"Yeah, no problem. I already work out. Besides, we never really hang out anyway."

"Guess not. Maybe if you'd let me take you on a date..."

"I'm good, Dean."

Dean pouted. Jo always shot him down. Maybe it was time to finally stop trying. He wondered if other dudes had this problem, he never really saw Jo with any guys. Dean thought about who he could ask, when it dawned on him.

Most of his friends were female. Nurses, usually, so, it had to be because of his profession, right? But a lot of the doctors and janitors were male. Patients were male. Dean always had a better time with women. Okay, well, it's because I'm a ladykiller, Dean justified. A total fox. No, that wasn't right either, because a lot of the women Dean spoke with weren't girls he'd been with, they were just friends, too.

Most guys had other guy friends, but Dean didn't really have any. He thought about one of the only guys he was friends with, the only other male nurse in the hospital, and remembered that Rodrigo was gay. From Dean's experience, most gay guys he knew hung around a ton of women. Fuck, was he one of the girls? Was he really filling the gay stereotype?

"Is there somethin' wrong with me?" Dean inquired. Jo looked over at him, confused.

"What do you mean? No.." She brushed her hair back behind her ear, looked a little concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno. You think I'm gay or something." Dean tore more grass from the ground. He felt strangely insecure.

"It's okay if you are. Nobody cares, Dean, it's 2012."

"I'm not gay. Why does everybody think I'm gay?" Scowling, Dean looked over at her, very displeased.

Jo stretched again and rose to her feet. She offered Dean a hand, but he grudgingly refused and struggled to his feet on his own.

"You act like you've got something to prove. I said it doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but I'm not gay."

"Okay, Dean. No need to get hostile." Jo looked tired and upset. She felt badly for Dean, wondered if he'd ever be comfortable with himself. She was pretty sure he actually was into men. He had to be at least bisexual.

"But you thought I was."

"Yeah, I did. But it's okay-" Jo didn't want to scare Dean off. This was obviously a situation that would need to be handled very carefully.

"It's not okay." _Denial_, thought Jo. _That poor gay bastard._

"Why does it matter to you so much?"

Dean hesitated. He shrugged. "I.. dunno! It's just.. because I'm not."

"Well then, who cares what I think?"

Dean was struck dumb yet again. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when his brain wouldn't register a response.

"See? My point. I'll see you tomorrow, Dean."

She was gone before he could think of anything to say.

* * *

Dean relaxed on his worn-down brown leather couch later, still sore from his workout and going over Jo's words in his head. He wasn't gay, no way. The whole conversation had been completely ridiculous. Dean loved women, he loved boobies. Dudes didn't have boobies.

He decided he'd find a movie to take his mind off things and finally try to relax. The remote laid on the coffee table, and he reached forward to pick it up. He leaned back against the cushions, propped his feet up and flipped through the channels, trying to settle on something to watch. Dean focused on the screen, where a man walked towards the camera in slow motion, a big explosion flaring out behind him, but he never looked back. He changed the channel. A baseball game, the batter was stepping up to the plate. He switched channels again. Titanic.

Dean set the remote down and stuffed a pretzel into his mouth. He sighed as he watched Jack try to scramble onto the board Rose floated on, but it sank and he gave into the water instead, let her lay upon it. He swallowed the food in his mouth, raised another pretzel to his lips and was halfway through chewing when he suddenly froze.

He'd just passed up manTV for the chick flick of the century. Then Dean started thinking. He had chosen to watch a romance/drama. His favorite movie was Ghost, which fell into the same genre. In fact, most of the movies Dean liked were pretty damn girly. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little unsettled. Maybe Jo had been on to something.

No way. Couldn't be. Dean's eyes snapped over to the bookshelf by the couch, lined with all his favorite DVDs. Titanic: The Deluxe Edition, and Ghost, of course, were there, but those were really good movies, Dean justified. Classic movies. Chick flicks, sure, but... dammit. Okay, The Craft. That wasn't a chick flick, right? There were chicks in it, but it was about witches. Pretty Woman. Crap. Groundhog Day. Shit. The Notebook. Fuck!

There had to be something manly in there. Dean got up, searched his DVDs like a man possessed. The Proposal, 50 First Dates, Knocked Up... this wasn't happening. But then Dean finally saw it, shoved back behind another box. Rudy. Ha! That movie was about football. Dean relaxed and sat back, feeling relieved.

Jo was a big jerk.

Dean glanced at the rest of his DVDs warily. Did it really mean anything? He couldn't help but still feel a little worried.

* * *

It bothered Dean all night and for the rest of the week. Somehow, it bothered him enough that he found himself standing outside on a cold night, collar turned up against the harsh wind and staring down the bright neon lights of a gay bar. The damn place was called 'Big Wangs.' Dean stood there with his heart in his stomach and shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. There's only one way he'd find out if he really did like dudes or not, and maybe it was time to bite the bullet.

The wind blew harder, and Dean squared his shoulders. It was now or never. He stared down the bar and prepared himself, pumping himself up to go inside. But when the door swung open and a few men staggered out, Dean turned abruptly and fled down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

He could feel his blood pounding in his ears as he got into the Impala and pushed eighty-eight miles per hour all the way home. Two showers weren't enough to make Dean feel clean, and he slept like crap.

The next morning, Dean was exhausted, and he stumbled through the day in a zombie-like daze. He'd almost mixed up two patient's medications and he had tripped over a wire, and smashed his face on the hard, cold, unforgiving floor. Dean's nose bled for fifteen whole minutes. He was really starting to feel the strain, and every time he looked at the clock it was like the hands hadn't moved an inch.

His lunch break finally rolled around, and Dean was digging through his locker, relieved for a chance to finally relax, when he heard Taylor's voice behind him.

"I thought I'd find you in here."

Dean sighed. He grabbed his paper bag and turned to look at Taylor, standing in the doorway looking as handsome as ever.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

Dean wondered if this is how a steak felt when he looked at it. Taylor was practically eating him up. The doctor stepped closer, pulling a pair of tickets from his coat pocket. "I've got tickets to see AC/DC. If you'd like to go."

Dean stared at him a minute. This guy was completely legit. Even though he felt and looked like shit, Taylor was still somehow interested enough to hit on him. Maybe it was finally time to man up and commit to this whole gay thing. He'd been thinking about it for weeks. Everyone thought he was gay, maybe he really was and just hadn't realized it yet. He loved girly movies, he already had all the female friends and it wasn't like he'd gotten any for a few weeks anyway.

He weighed the pros. Dean loved the hell out of AC/DC, and he didn't get many opportunities to go out and see concerts. Taylor had been bugging him for weeks, and Dean had always shot him down. But when he thought about it, really thought about it, he figured Taylor wasn't that bad of a guy. He would never have pegged him for a gay guy either, he wasn't girly or weird or anything. He was a perfectly normal, hot blooded American guy, with short blonde hair and a damn dazzling smile. Roughly Dean's height, but he was built real trim, firm muscle hiding beneath his clothes. Killer arms, too, which Dean would find out later. And... maybe Dean checked his ass out one time, not that he ever admitted it until now.

And Dean needed to figure out if he actually liked guys or not, so he decided that this was the perfect opportunity. It totally beat going into a gay bar, that was for damn sure.

Dean reached forward and took the tickets from his hand. This was it, he told himself. He was so sick of Taylor asking him out. Dean wondered if he'd gone crazy. Taylor's eyes sparkled and he grinned to himself, finally triumphant.

Immediate regret was setting in.

"I didn't know you liked AC/DC."

"I knew you'd say yes."

"Don't get cocky," Dean fired back. He couldn't believe he'd finally taken the bait, from Dr. Taylor of all people.

"Not yet, no."

Dean groaned. He was starting to regret this already. He put a hand on Taylor's chest and pushed him out of the way. "I gotta eat my lunch."

"I'll see you Saturday, Dean." Taylor was looking at him again, like he was the predator and Dean was the prey. It made Dean feel funny.

* * *

Cas had spent an hour crafting the perfect excuse to get out of work. He hopped in his cruiser and was at the hospital in less than five minutes, made his way to the nurse's station with a present tucked under his arm. Dean was sitting there, typing away at a computer. A bouquet of flowers sat on the counter beside him, a half-empty box of double chocolate chip cookies sat next to it. Dean was munching absently on one as he worked.

A fellow nurse nudged Dean, and he looked up and saw Cas, smiled real big, and slid his chair over to the counter.

"Hey, what's up? Shouldn't you be working?"

"I'm on break." Cas leaned on the counter, placed the small, rectangular box in front of Dean, covered in Christmas wrapping paper, even though it was nowhere near December. Little green Christmas trees covered the shiny red paper. Dean quirked an eyebrow, picked it up. "This for me? Since when do I get presents?"

"I saw it at the corner store. It made me think of you."

"Well, I'm flattered." Like a five year old, he tore the paper off, and laughed when he saw what was inside. "Spy Kids. Really, Cas?"

Cas grinned. He remembered the first time they had watched it together, how happy it had made Dean.

"I thought we could watch it on movie night."

Dean nodded, then remembered the concert. "Oh. Uh, no can do, I'm sorry, Cas. I got a thing. Maybe we could next week, cool?"

Cas' brow furrowed. He tilted his head, shooting a confused look towards Dean.

"What 'thing'?"

"Just a thing. It's not a big deal."

"Is it a date?" Jealousy shot through Cas like a bullet. Dean shrugged, set the DVD beside the flowers.

"Yeah. Uh, real hot blonde chick, too." He looked away quickly, moved back to the computer. Cas' eyes followed him, but he didn't catch the lie.

"I see. I suppose you're busy tonight, too. Balthazar keeps insisting I go drink with him."

"You oughta. I can't though, gotta work late, remember? I'll call you." Dean was avoiding looking at Cas. He didn't want to slip up, he couldn't risk Cas finding out that he was dating a dude. He'd never live it down.

"Ah. Yes. Okay, Dean." Cas tucked his disappointment away. Dean focused on his work, letting the silence fester for a short moment.

"Cas, look, I..." Dean trailed off and looked up, but Cas had already gone. Dean sighed at the emptiness he'd left behind. Cas always did that whenever he was upset, just up and left, and Dean hated it. He didn't like being alone.

* * *

Cas didn't spend the night alone, though. Balthazar picked him up at eight sharp because "You ruin the party when you show up in that police car, Cassie. Nobody likes a drag like you". Baz also forced him through four different dressing rooms until he looked presentable, bought him a whole new outfit and stuffed his coat pocket with one-dollar bills. "Tonight, we live like Kings," Balthazar had said, and he dragged a protesting Cas into a questionable-looking building with the outline of a glowing purple woman that hung above the sign: Candie's.

"I can't believe you brought me here," he muttered under his breath, his eyes following the women on the stage. Baz only laughed and pulled Cas by the arm to the VIP Lounge. "Don't be a baby," Baz told him. "If anyone needs this, it's you."

Five drinks later, with Cas still calling for more alcohol, Balthazar seemed perfectly content, relaxed on the long red sofa. The lights were low and set in different colors, coating the scantily-clad women with colors of the rainbow. A short brunette, naturally endowed, shimmied on the stage in front of them, her bra covered with sparkling sequins, reflecting the colored lights. She arched her back and gyrated against the pole. Cas swallowed more alcohol and looked away, uncomfortable. Baz nudged him and grinned.

"Not really your type, then? What would you like? A redhead? A blonde, perhaps? Maybe we could even find you a pretty little nurse."

Cas swallowed again, the alcohol burning his throat. He looked over at Baz, his eyes a little wide.

"I'm only joking, Cas." Baz chuckled. He stretched his arms out across the back of the sofa. Cas knocked back the liquor and slammed the glass down on the table in front of them.

"No. You're right."

Baz looked up at him curiously. Cas had his full attention now.

"I'm feeling something I've never felt before."

"We call that puberty where I come from," Baz teased. Cas kept staring at him, serious as a heart attack.

"I would die for him, Balthazar." Cas' eyes blazed. His chest swelled at the thought of Dean, ached in it's longing. Balthazar raised an eyebrow, shifted a little closer. Cas, however, stood up and stormed from the club, leaving Baz to scramble after him, still clutching his drink in hand.

"Cas, hey! Come on now, it's okay, then!" He chased Cas down in the parking lot, grabbed his arm and stopped him from striding away. Cas squared his shoulders, turned to look at Balthazar.

"What're you even doing then? Why don't you get out of here, go tell him?"

Cas shook his head. He looked away, his chest feeling heavy and making it difficult to breathe. "Too many reasons."

"He is gay. He must be. No heterosexual man overcompensates that much."

"He's seeing someone, regardless. It doesn't matter."

"Your point?"

Cas frowned deeply. "If he'd cheat on someone else, it means he would cheat on me as well. I don't want that."

"So sensitive. Sentimental. Is my little Castiel in love?" Baz sipped his scotch. Cas looked into his eyes, sincere.

"I don't know what this feeling is. The only thing I know is I've never felt it before. I want to be with him... I want to see him happy." His gaze softened. "I would never let anything happen to him. I wasn't kidding before. It's important." He thought about Dean, his beautiful face, how he looked like no man had any right to. Despite his beauty, he was still quite manly. His face was usually soft, shaven, but sometimes when he worked long nights or was just too tired in the mornings, he'd sport a five-o-clock shadow that Cas longed to reach out and feel beneath his fingertips. He wanted to touch Dean so tenderly, show him how he felt, make him feel loved like he deserved to be. He wanted to make him shiver and moan, to feel Dean's body pressed tight against his. It wasn't just the sex he wanted, either. With Dean, Cas felt more alive than he ever had before, and Dean had taught him so much. He'd taught him to be more human. Before Cas had been so mechanical, so serious, but Dean opened him up and he'd taught him how to laugh. Dean showed him how to relax and have a good time. He'd shown him how to love.

Cas went on about Dean for the rest of the night. Baz sighed, pinched his nose, tried to convince Cas to admit it to the hot male nurse, but to no avail. The detective was stubborn, he just wouldn't listen. Cas worried so much that Dean would panic, push him away and that their friendship would crumble to dust. He would rather die than lose Dean like that, no matter how much he pined for him.

Hours went by before Baz finally convinced Cas to stop and took him home. Cas sat in silence for the whole ride, brooding, while Baz cracked jokes and tried to lighten him up. Baz insisted on playing matchmaker, but there wasn't much he could do if Cas wouldn't cooperate, and Castiel had no intentions of doing so.

That night Cas dreamed about Dean. He was being stalked by a beautiful blonde vampire woman who tried to drain Dean of all his blood and keep him locked away forever. Cas busted through the door and killed the monster with his bare hands. Wrapped around Dean's body were hard wires, which Cas pulled away to free him from restraint. He pulled Dean into his arms, and Dean smiled and held him back, pressed his lips to Cas' ear and told him what he wanted to hear.

"I love you, Cas."

Cas woke up, disappointed and alone. He wrapped his arms around his pillow, pulled it close to his chest. He thought about Dean. Sometimes the things he felt were so overwhelming he thought he might die. It had been unexpected and it surprised him so much, but for so long he hadn't realized what it meant.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Castiel looked up. His phone was ringing. He grabbed it off the bedside table and answered it immediately when he saw it was Dean.

"Hey, Cas. You wanna hang out?"

"Yes." Cas responded immediately. He kicked off the blankets and hopped out of bed. He couldn't get dressed quickly enough, and he wound up almost forgetting his keys.

Dean chuckled on the other line when he realized Cas had hung up in his excitement.

"Weirdo."


	6. Chapter 6

Taylor picked Dean up at seven o'clock sharp, catching him right as he finished up his shift. Dean was energetic; excited, and it took almost all his willpower to keep still in his seat as Taylor drove them to the AC/DC concert. He'd only dreamed about what it would be like to see one of his favorite bands on stage in front of him, playing his favorite songs.

When they reached the venue, Dean shoved his way to the front of the pit, leaving Taylor to fight his way up after him. The crowd surged with energy and Dean watched, enthralled by his fellow fans, and unable to keep from whipping his head up at every movement and sound that came from backstage. Taylor was amused by Dean's enthusiasm; the show hadn't even started yet.

"Here," Taylor pushed a wet plastic cup filled to the brim with some shitty but expensive beer into Dean's hand, which was accepted gladly. He'd already had a couple before the show and felt his first-date-jitters melt away as the alcohol warmed his belly.

Suddenly, the first guitar chord rang out and the band came into view, lights popping and dry ice curling off the stage in cool wisps. Dean's eyes lit up and remained glued to the sight ahead of him; but Taylor's eyes stayed on Dean. He pressed a little closer, and maybe Dean was too engrossed to notice, but he didn't pull away.

"_Are you ready to rock?_" Brian Johnson's voice thundered through the stadium and Dean screamed out his excitement with the rest of the crowd. Taylor looped an arm around his waist from behind as the first song started up, loud and strong, accompanied by pyrotechnics. Dean pumped his fists in the air, his hips moving with the music. Taylor smirked and held on, pressing tighter against him. He laughed when Dean shoved the half-empty beer cup back into his hands and sang along to _Highway to Hell._ He cheered loudly when Angus Young stripped down to his boxers and mooned the audience. That really cracked him up, and he turned to look at Taylor, his eyes sparkling happily.

"This is so awesome!" He gushed.

Then, Taylor leaned in and kissed him.

Dean's whole body froze up. But Taylor's lips were soft, and the adrenaline and alcohol were wreaking havoc on his judgment. Somehow, his hands found their way into Taylor's jacket and suddenly their chests were pressed together, and Taylor chuckled darkly, lowly, against Dean's mouth. In a brief moment of panic, Dean pulled back and glanced around, but no one seemed to care about the two guys making out. Crisis averted. So, he leaned in for more.

Pop, _bang!_ Dean jumped sharply, looking back to the stage as fireworks exploded above them. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed, giddy and enthralled. He turned back towards the show, mesmerized. Taylor stayed close, his arms sliding around Dean's waist as he pressed against him from behind. Dean only leaned back into his embrace. He was feeling pretty damn good, loose and relaxed from all the alcohol and excitement.

By the end of the night, Dean was hoarse from all the singing and screaming, his throat aching and dry, but he didn't care. He strolled down the street towards the Impala, high on adrenaline and rock n' roll.

Dean had such a good time, he agreed to a second date.

Taylor took him to an auto race, and they drank beer and placed bets. If Dean won, he'd get fifty bucks, but Taylor only asked for a third date. Car number five, that was gonna be the one to net Dean his sweet moolah. But when the car skidded off the track and crashed into the wall on the final lap, Taylor shot a triumphant smirk towards Dean and Dean brooded silently in his defeat.

"Wanna grab some pie at the diner?" Taylor said, catching Dean's hand as they left the track. Dean squeezed Taylor's hand, his stomach doing a flip. Hell, if he got pie out of this, dating a dude might not be so bad after all…

A few weeks rolled by and they kept dating in secret. Dean was too embarrassed to admit it to anyone and let Cas continue to believe he was dating a woman. He was still spending most of his free time with the grouchy cop, but it was less and less, the closer he got with Taylor. Dean had to admit the doctor was growing on him a bit, but he still wasn't sure if he was gay. It was uncomfortable and he felt ashamed. His dad would never have approved of this, surely, but Dean didn't really know. It had been years since he'd seen John, but he still had this sinking feeling that his father wouldn't want his son to turn out a queer. All Dean had ever wanted was to make him proud.

Yet, despite his reservations, Dean couldn't deny how good it felt to be making out with Taylor in the backseat of his Dodge Challenger on their fifth…no, sixth date. Dean hadn't realized just how toned Taylor's body was until the doctor had him pinned under his solid, muscular frame.

Dean had always been confident about himself in the bedroom; he tried very hard to please the women he'd been with in the past, and never really had any complaints lodged against him. But as good as he was at pleasing the ladies, he found himself at a loss when it came to being with Taylor. He suddenly didn't know where to put his hands or what dirty things he ought to say to spice up the mood. He felt like a blushing school girl when Taylor wedged between his legs and cupped his ass. He was mortified by the sound of his voice and the soft moans he made when Taylor squeezed and kneaded at him.

But he was even more surprised by how much he was enjoying himself. How, whenever Taylor walked by him in the hospital and winked at him, that warm spike of arousal would pool in the pit of his stomach. How much he looked forward to stealing secret kisses in the break room or the locker room or coma guy's room or the supply closet.

_Yeah,_ he decided as he leaned his head back so Taylor could kiss over his throat, _being with a dude is pretty hot._

After a particularly long and grueling day, made extra obnoxious by Taylor's ill-timed flirting, Dean was finally heading home. He strolled through the parking lot, exhausted, his bag slung over his shoulder with his hospital scrubs inside.

A police siren whooped a couple times behind him, followed by a deep, gravelly voice magnified over the speaker.

"Dean Winchester, you are under arrest."

Dean turned to see Cas drive his police cruiser up beside him, leaning out the window with a grin. "Hello, Dean." It drew a pout to Dean's lips, and he leaned down to the window with a scowl, trying to hide his amusement.

"You're embarrassing me." He shoved his bag in through the window at Cas's face.

"Assault with a deadly weapon-" The receiver was snatched out of his hand.

"Cas wears ladies underpants!"

Cas flushed as the message rang across the parking lot. "Dean!" His face turned bright red, making Dean grin in amusement. He leaned halfway out the window now, as he reached for the walkie, swiping at the air as Dean moved further away.

A young, attractive woman looked up and turned to watch them curiously. Dean smirked and pointed in her direction. "Hey, beautiful-" He was cut off when Cas grabbed his pant-leg, yanking him closer to the cruiser, and grabbed for the walkie again.

"Get in the car. I need your help."

"Party pooper," Dean muttered, holding the prize just out of Cas' reach. "With what?"

Cas stared at him and Dean could feel those blue eyes penetrating his soul.

"Not until you stop using that," he said.

"Whatsamatter, huh?"

"Dean, _please,_" Cas groaned.

"Hey, you started it."

Cas snatched the walkie out of his hand. "Get in the car," he stated firmly. Dean relented and strolled around to the passenger's side to settle in. Cas dropped back into his seat, making one final announcement.

"Cas does not wear ladies underwear."

Dean snickered. The car rolled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

"Whatever you say, man. Why couldn't we take my car, by the way? I hate ridin' in this thing."

Cas was focused on the road, driving fast. He gripped the wheel, keeping the car steady. "Because we need to drive fast."

"What's the rush?" Dean asked, leaning back in his seat. Cas was pushing the speed limit now.

"The mall closes soon."

Dean quirked an eyebrow and glanced over at his friend. "What're we, teenagers?"

"You certainly behave like one." Cas switched on the siren and sped even faster, cutting and weaving through traffic with ease. Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Cas cut him off. "Look, I need you to…help me. Purchase clothing." He glanced at Dean briefly, tearing his eyes from the road. "To wear."

Dean laughed. Cas turned his eyes back to the road.

"Uh, okay. What, you forgot how to dress yourself or something?"

"Yes."

"What's the occasion?"

Cas pulled the car right up to the front entrance of the mall. Being a police officer definitely had it's perks. He glanced at Dean as he put the car in park.

"I got a credit card," he said, and then glanced away. "It came in the mail today." He pushed open the door and got out of the car. Dean followed beside him as he headed into the mall. Cas pulled the shiny new card out of his pocket, and Dean immediately snatched it from his fingers.

"Livin' the high life, huh. Sweet." Dean turned the card over in his hands, examining it. "Let's get crackin', then!"

Six stores and five hundred dollars later, and Dean sat on Cas' bed, sorting through the clothes as Cas changed in the bathroom. He was taking a really long time, and it was making Dean impatient.

"Come on, lemme see," he grumbled, and headed into the bathroom, shoving the door open wide. Cas stood at the sink, dressed in dark jeans, a blue button down, and a bitchin' black leather jacket that Dean had chosen for him. Dean had to admit, he didn't look half bad. Cas's eyes were a little wide as he looked up at the sound of the door creaking open. He was in the middle of fussing with his hair, and it looked absolutely ridiculous. Dean chortled and closed the space between them, running his hands through Cas's hair to remedy the situation.

"What did you _do?_" Dean asked, amused. Cas looked at him helplessly. "What are you even doing your hair for now, huh? We just got back. You goin' somewhere?"

"Yes." Cas answered tersely. Dean chuckled, pleased.

"Cool. Where we goin'?"

"Ah..." Cas started. He shifted uncomfortably.

Dean smirked. "Strip club?"

"No."

"Where then?" Dean pushed.

"For a drink." Cas sighed deeply, glancing at himself in the mirror. Dean pulled back, inspecting Cas's unruly locks. He pushed him to sit down on the toilet lid and used his fingers to give it some style.

Cas pushed back, though and stood abruptly, nose-to-nose with Dean. Dean rolled his eyes, pushed at his shoulders. "Hey. I wasn't done."

"There's this girl," Cas started quickly, still quite uneasy. Dean tilted his head a bit, intrigued.

"What?"

"A girl..." Cas cleared his throat, shook his head and corrected himself. "Woman."

Dean didn't understand where he was going with this. "Okay... and?"

"And...I'm supposed to be taking her out. Tonight." Cas responded, watching Dean's face. Dean took a step back.

"A date?"

"That's what I said, yes."

Dean folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, looking Cas over from head to toe, then back up again. Then he leaned in and ruffled Cas's hair, spitefully destroying the work he had done. Cas scowled and pushed Dean's hands away.

"Stop that."

"Make me." What a smart-ass. Cas did not look pleased. He turned back to the mirror to fix the damage, getting more pomade on his hands. Dean nudged him again, making Cas turn to confront him.

"What is your problem?" he grunted. Dean shrugged coolly.

"No problem. How come you waited so long to tell me?"

Cas shrugged. His voice was much smaller this time. "You've told me nothing about the person you're dating. I thought it was something we just don't talk about."

Dean shrugged that off. He definitely wasn't about to tell Cas he was dating a dude. He had to focus the attention back on Cas, fast. "Well, it's not serious." He paused, thought quickly. "You, uh, on the other hand..." he said, "_You_ look nervous as hell, so that means you gotta like her a lot."

"Nn…yes." Cas fixed his hair and inspected himself in the mirror. "No," he amended quickly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Don't bullshit me."

"It's just...Normally, I don't _date._" Grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste, Cas bent over the sink. He squeezed a small amount onto the tip of the brush and started to scrub his teeth.

"Yeah, okay. Well, you shoulda told me, Casanova," Dean jabbed at him playfully. Cas seemed irritated again.

"Why does it matter?" He asked around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Because you're my friend?" Dean looked at him incredulously. The word 'duh' may as well have been written all over his face. Cas spit into the sink.

"Well, I just told you," Cas muttered.

"Took you long enough, though. You- that's why you wanted new clothes. You dick!" Dean slapped Cas's shoulder, making him turn in surprise.

"Why are you angry?"

"I'm not! Just surprised. You said you never date."

"No. I have casual sex."

Dean almost choked without anything to even choke on. His face turned red and he laughed. "You _what?_ Well, this is a date, Romeo! What makes her so special that you're not just gonna try to put your pig in her blanket?"

A sigh escaped Cas's lips. He rinsed his mouth and ran the water, sending the paste swirling down into the drain. "Remember the other day, when I told you about that attempted bank robbery?"

"Uh-huh."

"She was the teller I rescued." Cas placed his toothbrush gingerly in the holder, then turned back to adjust his hair once more.

"Ooooooh." Dean dragged out the syllable, being extra annoying about it. "She must want your dick real bad, then."

Cas just rolled his eyes, muttered a maybe. Dean reached out and flattened down Cas's hair. "_Totally._"

Cas pushed his arm away again, fixed his hair, and strode from the room quickly. Dean followed after him like an obedient puppy, but before he could open his mouth to badger Cas some more about his date, Cas turned suddenly and spoke up.

"Can I..." he started, then he sighed and started over. "If you're not too annoyed with me, could I borrow your car? Just for tonight?"

Dean's expression darkened considerably. He looked like someone had just spoken offense about his mother.

"I'll leave you the keys to my cruiser..." Cas pulled them from his pants pocket, but Dean's face didn't change.

"You've gotta be kidding."

Cas just stared at him with those big blue eyes, offering the keys to his friend. "Please."

It didn't change Dean's expression much, but he was looking a bit less angry and a little more thoughtfully. Still, he didn't look too keen on letting Cas take his baby on a date; the thought of him dirtying her up with that bank teller just left a sour taste in his mouth. But before he could even negotiate the Car Sex Rules, Cas's fist closed around the keys, he looked agitated.

"Forget it," he muttered, as he headed out the door. "Help yourself if you decide to stay." He slammed it behind him, leaving Dean startled and maybe a little bummed about the whole ordeal. He grumbled in his annoyance, sauntered over to the couch, and flopped down.

Let the brooding commence.

Cas didn't come home until three AM. When he stumbled inside, his clothes a little rumpled and his hair tousled, Dean was stretched out on the couch, stuffing his face with snacks and littering his coffee table with junk food wrappers. He heard the door open and straightened up, looking over the back of the couch.

"Woah, look what the cat dragged in!"

"Hello." Cas shut the door and leaned back against it, exhausted.

"Well?" Dean asked, impatient. It elicited a soft sigh from Cas. "How'd it go?"

"She's married. Separated." He looked disappointed. "We went to her house after dinner and drinks. She asked me to sneak out the back door." Cas scrubbed a hand over his face. Dean sat up a bit straighter, and leaned over the back of the couch.

"So, you didn't fuck her?" He didn't know why that detail was so important, but he needed the answer.

"Actually, I did. But then she made me leave."

Dean scowled. "Bitch."

Cas sighed.

"It's cool, man. Was the sex good?"

"It was okay." Cas headed into the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge.

"Gees, that sucks..." Dean mumbled, hopping up and following after Cas. He leaned back against the island, watching Cas grab a Bud and snap the cap off on the counter. He already reeked of alcohol.

"You're drunk already, huh?" Dean asked. Cas knocked the bottle back and wiped his lip off on his jacket sleeve.

"Yes." His voice was rough, like it had been soaked in whiskey all night. Dean tried to hide the shiver it gave him.

"That bad?"

Cas turned back to the fridge, grabbed a slice of leftover pie, and a fork. He dropped the container onto the kitchen table and sank onto a chair, immediately shoveling food into his mouth. Dean watched, impressed.

"Hey uh, at least one of us is getting some. I can't remember the last time I got lucky." Dean's attempt at consolation didn't really work though. Cas shot him a skeptical, bleary eye.

"Your girlfriend isn't _putting out?_"

"Long story. We uh... just screw around. Haven't fucked yet. I don't always fuck on the first date, you know."

Cas grunted, but didn't say anything else. He ate another huge mouthful of pie.

Dean stood there awkwardly for a minute before his phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket, checked his message, and let a slow smirk spread over his face. Cas knocked back more beer, finishing off the slice of pie, and started in on another.

"What's up with you, man?" Dean asked as he focused on his phone, texting slowly. "You're like a wild animal."

"Hungry." Cas wasn't even talking anymore, just grunting. He was almost finished that second slice of pie, like some kind of crazy human vacuum cleaner.

"What're you, pregnant?"

Cas shot Dean a look. "It's three in the morning and I just had sex. I'm allowed to be hungry."

Dean shrugged, brought his phone closer to his nose. Cas let out that familiar sigh of annoyance.

"Are you sexting in front of me?" He finished his beer and rose from his chair, placing his plate in the sink and his bottle in the trash. Dean shrugged again.

"Perfectly innocent text messaging..."

"Bullshit," Cas interjected, sauntering out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Dean followed like a shadow once more, as Cas sat down and grabbed the TV remote.

"Well, if you wanna trade... sexting for sex, I'm down."

"Sure."

"Seriously? Weirdo."

The second Dean sat down beside him, Cas snatched the phone from his hands and started flicking through his messages. Dean started, grabbing for it in a blind panic. "Hey!"

Cas pressed a hand to Dean's chest and held him at arm's length. Flipping through the messages with his thumb, he selected a random message in the inbox from 'Joe.'

_I wanna take ur clothes off baby_

"You are such a _liar,_ " Cas breathed, holding the phone away as Dean grabbed for it. "Jo wants to get you _naked._" He kept on scrolling. Dean looked desperate, panicked, confused that Cas didn't seem too fazed that it was a man- then he realized. He must think it was from _Jo._ Boobs-and-a vagina-not-a-penis-Jo.

Even still, he'd figure it out if he kept going through those messages. Dean had to get that phone back. So, he tackled Cas back onto the couch, making him let out an "oof!," though he quickly recovered and rolled them onto the floor, still clutching the phone firmly in hand. He read another text.

_u want me to touch your dick?_

Cas laughed and kept on scrolling. "She really sucks at this."

Dean kept reaching, he could feel the muscles in his arms straining and stretching. "Cas, gimmie the damn phone!" But Cas was relentless. He read another.

_Thinkin about being inside u baby..._

Cas froze and pushed Dean off, staring at the phone. He checked to see if he'd switched to the outbox instead and realized he hadn't. He tilted his head, looking over at Dean, who was beet red. He grabbed for the phone once again, but Cas held it away, looked down again. He squinted.

"Joe. With an e?" Cas gaped.

Dean, flustered, finally managed to fish the phone from Cas's hand. "Shut. Up."

"Wait... you're- this isn't _Jo,_ Jo?" A stunned look was possessing Cas. He tilted his head up towards Dean, watching him crawl away dejectedly. Quickly, he grabbed Dean's ankle and pulled him back. "You're dating a _guy?_ Who is he, do I know him...?" Suddenly Cas was all questions. Dean groaned, mortified.

"No...! No!"

Upset, Cas pried the phone from Dean's clammy grasp once more. He opened the message and turned it towards Dean. "He wanted to be _inside_of you." His voice came out more like a growl than the English language. Dean turned his face away, embarrassed.

"Stop reading my texts."

"Who is this guy, Dean?"

"I can't believe you just read that, fuck."

Clearly, Dean wasn't going to answer him. So, Cas pressed the call button and raised the phone to his ear. Dean's eyes shot open and he lunged for Cas.

"Cas, no!"

Cas scrambled to his feet, stumbling away from Dean. The phone rang twice on the other end and then there was a soft rustling noise as Taylor picked up.

"Hey, baby," Taylor answered smoothly. Cas listened carefully, trying to recognize the voice.

"Keep talking."

Taylor was immediately thrown, that was definitely too deep to be Dean's voice. "Who's this?"

"Who's _this?_" Cas echoed. "_Joe?_" He was running circles around the coffee table now, with Dean on his tail. It wasn't a problem, he could easily outrun him.

It took Taylor a moment. "...Cas? The cop?"

"Ah, so I know you," Cas muttered triumphantly.

"I'd recognize that weird voice anywhere."

"Taylor. It all makes sense now." There was only one Joseph who was that much of a dick.

"Gimmie the phone!" Dean groaned, and was surprised when Cas tossed it to him. He fumbled and nearly dropped it. Once he caught it, he rushed out of the room, the front door slamming behind him. Startled, Cas rushed after him, not having expected Dean to leave so abruptly.

"Dean!"

When he got to the window, he could see Dean pacing outside by the front step. Cas stopped short. The phone was raised to Dean's ear, and he was speaking quickly. After just a few short seconds, he hung up and sunk down onto the stoop, dropping his face into his hands.

Cas slowly opened the front door, leaning around the edge of it awkwardly. "Joe Taylor, huh. The doctor."

"You're a prick," Dean hissed. "I can't believe you stole my phone."

"I can't believe you're dating a guy and didn't tell me," Cas fired back. Dean shook his head, his stomach twisting.

"Why the hell would I tell you? So you could flip the fuck out?"

"I'm not flipping out! I thought it was Jo. That girl!"

"You're yelling! That's flipping out."

Cas's lip curled as the jealousy flared up in his chest. "I didn't think you dated men. That's all," he replied curly. He watched Dean rub at his eyes, saw the embarrassed heat turning his cheeks and neck pink, and Cas wondered briefly if he'd cry. He softened his voice and spoke, "It's fine, Dean. You shouldn't have been afraid to tell me."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Dean said. Cas shook his head, feeling more rejected than ever.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"I just... let you think what you wanted. I didn't lie. Not really. Kinda. I mean, no. Why would I tell you that? It's freakin' weird."

Cas scowled. "I don't think it's weird." He sunk down beside Dean, sitting on the step next to him, and clapped him on the arm affectionately. Dean turned to look at his hand, the blush from before still on his face.

"Okay, well... good," he mumbled awkwardly.

"Come inside. We can watch a movie."

Dean sighed, and rose to his feet. "No, I think I should go," he said quietly, unable to recover from the hurt and shame that made his stomach feel weak.

"Dean—" Cas stood as well and gazed at him, willing him to stay.

"I gotta go," Dean grunted and walked down the steps, heading for the Impala across the street. Cas watched helplessly as Dean got in, started the engine, and sped off into the night. He curled his hands into fists until he couldn't see the taillights anymore, then trudged back up the steps and into his cold and empty apartment.

Alone.

The next day, Cas was on patrol with Balthazar, clutching the steering wheel as a headache pounding in his ears. He was hung over and downright miserable, and like hell if Baz hadn't noticed. He was starting to get a little impatient with his partner's grumpiness.

"You haven't said a bloody thing all day. I take it your date went horribly."

"I slept with a married woman. It was awful." Cas focused on the road. He was so tired, so spent. Dean liked men but he hadn't even considered Cas, and that felt like such a punch to the gut.

Baz chuckled. "So, she was rubbish."

"She was alright."

"It's pretty difficult for a woman to be bad at sex. What'd she do, try to bite off your nipples?"

"She wanted a serious emotional connection with me. I didn't really know how to please her."

"You just wanted to stick it in."

Cas brought the car to a stop as they sat in front of a red light. He sighed and glanced over at Balthazar. "She sort of just... laid still."

Baz laughed. "Wow. It's all about participation, isn't it?"

"You'd think." He turned back to the road, taking a left.

"Better luck next time." Baz reached across the seat and patted Cas on the shoulder, amused.

"I'm so hung over..." Cas groaned, pulling into the parking lot of a small convenience store.

"Mm, yes. Do complain some more. You got laid and your life is quite miserable," Baz teased. Cas rubbed his forehead.

"Yes, and then I had to sneak out while her husband came in through the front door. I'm... the back door man."

That drew another chuckle from Balthazar. "Did you do it in the back door?"

Cas scowled. Baz laughed again. "Shame, shame..."

"I need drugs."

"You're boned." Baz shuffled out of the car, then leaned down to the window. "Only because I love you."

Cas muttered his thanks as Balthazar disappeared into the store. He slumped down in his seat, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sound of traffic whooshing by on the street behind them. He got himself a few minutes of peace before the driver's door was suddenly wrenched open and a bottle of aspirin fell into his lap.

"Scoot over, would you?" Baz was leaning over him, his police uniform shirt hanging open in a slight V, missing a couple buttons at the top. He held a bottle of water out to Cas, shaking it insistently.

Cas's hand closed around the bottle and he climbed into the passenger's seat, allowing Baz to get in and drive. He swallowed the pills down with the water quietly, keeping to himself.

Baz broke the silence as he started the car. "How are things with lover boy, then?" Cas was quiet, unresponsive. "That bad, mm?"

"If you're referring to Dean..." he looked over at his friend, "I found out that the lady he's been dating? Not a lady at all."

"Where've you been?" Baz snorted, pulling onto the road, and it made Cas's head snap up.

"You _knew?_"

"It seems kind of obvious," Baz interjected thoughtfully. Cas sat up straight, distressed.

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"I always thought he was a little crooked."

"Balthazar." Cas looked at him darkly. "Did you know he was dating Taylor or not?"

"I had no clue," Baz sighed defensively. "Don't you think I would have told you, Cassie, love?"

"I don't know." Cas relaxed into his seat, but only slightly. "I just... I don't get it."

"Exactly. Why wouldn't he go for you, then? Hm. I think maybe you need to woo him. You've got no excuse now that you know he's gay."

Cas looked weary, uncertain. "I don't know what to do."

"Just ask him to dinner."

"I can't. He's been dating this guy for three weeks. I thought the presents would've worked. I've been sending him stuff for the past year." Cas groaned. "He probably thinks they're from Taylor." He folded his arms across his chest, not pleased that his rival was the one getting the credit.

"Well then, why don't you tell him?"

Cas shook his head.

"Don't be a baby!"

"He likes Taylor." After a beat, he added, "You know they call him McDreamy or something? It's horrible."

Baz kept on badgering. "But you're much better looking. Dark and mysterious. And those blue eyes. You should ask him out."

"He won't say yes," Cas insisted.

"You won't know unless you try."

Cas pulled at the back of his neck, thought for a second. "Okay. How."

"Just be confident. Say, 'Dean, you look lovely. Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?' I know you're firm when you want to be."

No matter how hard Baz tried to encourage him, it wasn't working. Cas still had that panicked look in his eyes, that sad little puppy-dog look. "What if he says no?"

"Then at least you'll know. No more nagging feeling..."

"I already know." Cas looked out the window miserably.

"No, you _don't._ You are so damn depressing. I didn't think you were such a quitter."

"I'm not," Cas scowled. He shot a look towards his partner.

"Then, _do_ something about it! Don't let that prick take credit for all your hard wooing."

"Okay!" Cas was suddenly pumped, anger churning deep in his guts.

"Yes? Well, then." Baz stepped on the gas. "Let's go."

"What, now?" Cas started, not expecting it.

"It's now or never! Get pumped!" Balthazar switched on the police siren. Cas was mortified, but he hung on for the ride.

When they got to the hospital (in record time), Cas burst inside with confidence, but he still looked like shit. Hung over, exhausted, scruffy and bleary-eyed, he strode through the halls quickly, looking for Dean. There was no sign of him, so he swung by the nurses' station to see if anyone knew where he could be.

Cas removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, trying to neaten up his appearance, wanting to look good. He approached the counter. "Um, excuse me."

A young, bubbly female nurse looked up at him and flashed a smile, recognizing Cas. He did visit quite often to see Dean, so most of the nurses knew him well. "Hi, Officer St. James. If you're looking for Dean, you just missed him."

Cas was floored. He leaned onto the counter. "Do you know where he went?"

"No idea. I did see him leave with Dr. Taylor like, an hour ago."

Cas's heart sunk like a deflated balloon. So much for Hollywood romance. He straightened up, disappointed. "An hour? Okay. Thanks."

"Uh-huh! Nice seeing you, officer."

Cas tilted his cap to her and headed out of the hospital where Balthazar sat fiddling with the transmitter. When he saw Cas, he looked up urgently. "Castiel. Get in the car!"

His sudden energy perked Cas up, and he headed over to the cruiser quickly. "What is it?"

"We got a call. There's an assault two blocks from here. Get _in._"

The second Cas hopped into the car, Balthazar sped off, siren blaring.

Cas's stomach was churning. "Hurry up."

There was no way Cas could have been prepared for what happened next.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hi everyone,

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you all that the author of this story has passed away due to complications from Lupus. Bryan was a huge fan of Supernatural and he and I were lucky enough to go to BurCon just this past March to meet Jensen and Jared. (He's the one who doodled some Destiel and Crowley with Growley on the back of a receipt in McDonalds. I'm the one who gave it to a group of girls we didn't know because he was too shy to approach.)

He started writing this story after we tossed around ideas of what Cas and Dean would be like if circumstances were different. This story was a source of great inspiration and comfort for him during the time he spent writing it at the hospital. He left behind copious notes, the completed chapter which you've just read, some short scenes, a multi-chapter outline, and instructions for me to continue and finish his work.

So, I hope you continue to enjoy Bryan's story and if you'd like to see his artwork, please visit: .com

With love,  
-Clownfrogg


	7. Chapter 7

To be perfectly honest, nobody had seen Dr. Taylor or Dean Winchester since six o'clock that evening, but Lucia Rodriguez was still low man on the totem pole at Mercy General Hospital, as far as Dean was concerned, and it was incredibly easy to bribe her into covering the last few hours of his shift.

_Oye, mamacita. What big, beautiful eyes you have. Do me a solid for a couple hours and I'll take bedpan duty on Sunday._

Easy as pie.

Now, it wasn't like he needed a cover because he _intended_ on going out with Taylor again. Au contraire. After their last date, which was an absolute fiasco, Dean was perfectly content to return to the single life; especially if it meant feeling like a real person again instead of a slab of meat – very sexy, but not-interested-in-being-objectified meat.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Taylor's advances; and it wasn't like he didn't understand what he wanted. Hell, Dean couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten laid, what with how busy he was juggling work and hanging out with Cas and actually getting some sleep for a change. But he couldn't shake the feeling that scoring a home run might have been Taylor's only goal all along.

As it turned out, they hadn't gotten very far on the baseball diamond, even if they had gone out five or six times already. They kissed at the concert, briefly held hands after the auto race (Dean had pulled away when people started giving them odd looks), and made out a little during The Bourne Legacy 'cause it was so boring. Things got a little serious on the last date, though. He and Taylor – Joe – were supposed to ferry across the Delaware to Penn's Landing for a night of South Street barhopping when the sky opened up and the heavens rained down.

Instead, they just sat together in the wide backseat of Taylor's car, drinking warm sodas and talking about mundane bullshit. He felt shy with Taylor looking at him so intently and found himself rambling about how Nnamdi Asomugha and Mychal Kendricks were the stars of the season opener and how the Eagles might actually have a shot this year when Taylor leaned over and kissed him quiet.

It wasn't the sort of unexpected, uncertain kiss they had at the concert, and it wasn't stolen in a dark movie theater; no, this was different. This was heated, more urgent. Dean's heartbeat quickened and he looked Taylor in the eyes, not sure if he should punch him or kiss him back. He clocked in on the slow but anxious sweep of Taylor's tongue as it darted out to moisten his lips. Arousal waged a war with anxiety in his stomach, giving him a bad case of confusion and butterflies. Impulsively, Dean leaned forward and crushed their mouths together, chasing that tongue with soft but insistent licks. Taylor tasted like mint tea, refreshing and cool, and tilted his face for easier access.

Dean fisted his hands in Taylor's shirt, pushing against him urgently, wrestling for dominance until he found himself with his back pressed against the warm leather seat and let Taylor take the lead. He seemed to know what he was doing. Seemed to know just how to touch Dean – when to drag Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and when to lick soothingly into his mouth for a more sensual kiss. Dean groaned, mind reeling, letting Taylor's mouth and body and hands coax him into yielding. Enjoyed the rough scrape of stubble against his cheek and leaned his head back so Taylor's lips could find purchase at his throat.

"I guess you earned a little making out after all the money you spent on me this year," Dean ventured huskily, wanting Taylor to admit what he already knew – that he'd spent over three hundred and sixty-five days trying to get him to say yes, trying to get him to go out on a date – in the backseat of this car, writhing and moaning and taking their flirtatious game of cat and mouse to a whole new level.

"No, I only got those tickets a month in advance." Taylor slid his cool, smooth palms up under Dean's shirt, scraping blunt nails ever so gently over his chest.

"What?" Dean launched himself into a sitting position, almost knocking Taylor right in the face with the top of his head. "I meant all that secret admirer crap," Dean searched his gray eyes for a hint of recognition, but found nothing. "The presents?"

"That wasn't me." Taylor sat back, frowning.

"Oh," Dean felt a stab of betrayal in his chest, and suddenly, the backseat was beginning to feel a little cramped and claustrophobic. He thought – no, _assumed_ – that it had been Taylor the whole time. It was why he agreed to go to that damn concert in the first place. Initially, he thought the doctor was nothing more than a pretty face and raunchy comments; but when those gifts began arriving out of the blue, he couldn't deny how endearing Taylor's – somebody's – efforts were. How could he say no to somebody he thought knew him so well? Somebody who went out of their way to brighten his workday every chance they got? Who surely did their homework on his likes and desires? Who knew that he preferred the bittersweet flavor of cherry pie over too-sweet apple?

Taylor moved forward, reaching out a hand to cup Dean's jaw but stopped when Dean slid back against the window to escape his touch.

"Who cares?" Taylor laughed. "You didn't like those flowers anyway. That's not a present you give to a guy." Dean licked his kiss swollen bottom lip self-consciously.

"I liked 'em just fine," He snapped.

"Okay, Dean. Whatever you say."

Dean didn't understand why he was getting so defensive about the mysterious gift giver, but he did know that his admirer paid attention when he talked and chose each present with precision and care. His favorite candy; the flowers – lavender and Baby's breath like his mom used to collect in pots back in Kansas before the fire; Dr. Sexy DVDs; cool knick knacks, like the revolver shaped lighter and a metal ring that doubled as a bottle opener (which he fingered absently on the ring finger of his left hand.) Somebody definitely paid attention when he talked and he incorrectly gave the credit to Taylor all along.

"Hey, you know, I just remembered—" Dean started, but was cut off when Taylor's work pager beeped loudly.

Taylor swore under his breath and climbed back into the driver's seat. "I'm sorry, I gotta take this. There's an emergency at the hospital. Can I drop you there?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'll just catch the bus," Dean said bitterly as he scrambled after Taylor into the passenger seat. His shoulder hit the window as Taylor sped out of the parking lot and back onto the Expressway. He yanked his seatbelt into place, wondering if Taylor was mad because they didn't get as far as he probably planned to get.

After last Saturday, Dean's bitterness towards Taylor only continued to grow. He also noticed that the gifts being sent to the nurses' station hadn't stopped. This week, it was a vintage four-pack of Led Zeppelin buttons that Dean remembered seeing for sale in all the record stores when he was a kid. Too cool. Whoever this person was, Dean would have to keep around.

But there he was, single and still no clue who his admirer could be. Still reeling over Taylor ditching him after their so-called date and not being decent enough to call and make amends. Turns out that dating a guy isn't that much different than being with a chick after all. Men were just as quick to tear his heart out as women, and Dean concluded that being vulnerable just wasn't worth the aggravation.

Six days later, Dean was in the locker room pulling on a fresh pair of scrubs after Flu Patient puked all over him. It was too early to call up Cas and bug him to go out drinking or bowling later, and Jo was on the graveyard shift that night. He stuffed his dirty scrubs into the laundry chute, and headed for the door when it abruptly swung open, nearly colliding with his face.

"Watch it!" Dean grunted, catching the door quickly to save his nose.

"Sorry," Taylor breathed, standing in front of Dean in his suit and lab coat. His eyes widened slightly with recognition. "Dean."

"Doctor," Dean said curtly.

"I feel like you've been avoiding me. Something wrong?"

Dean shrugged and picked a small piece of lint off his shoulder.

"Listen, about the other night—"

"It's cool," Dean interrupted him and muscled his way out past Taylor and into the hallway. Taylor quickly caught his arm and drew him closer. Dean dug the heels of his sneakers into the floor, every inch of his body tensing in protest. "Really. No big deal."

"No, you're mad at me, and frankly, I have no idea why." Taylor looked at him questioningly, as though trying to will the truth from Dean's lips. "But I'm beat, my shift's over, and I was gonna go to this bar out past the bridge."

"Not a real good neighborhood, Doc." Dean pulled his arm free.

"Ah, c'mon. It's just Rutgers kids and some Philly stragglers," Taylor pushed. "Come with me. Let's have a drink." He moved closer, giving Dean the kind of puppy dog look reminiscent of his little brother, Sam. Dean hesitated, feeling a hint of regret about the other night. Taylor moved closer still, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. I know you're disappointed about the whole secret admirer thing and I understand if you're not ready to take it to the next level, but I like you, Dean, okay? There. I said it." And he spread his arms like some kind of gay messiah, pleading for Dean's affection.

Avoiding the look in Taylor's eyes, Dean carefully weighed the possibilities: Option one - tell Taylor to go screw himself, go home alone, and keep his dignity in tact; Option two – let Taylor buy him a few beers, then catch a cab home and keep his dignity in tact; either way, he won.

Dean rolled his eyes. "_One_ drink," he conceded. "And no making out."

"Fantastic," Taylor grinned, and all Dean could think of was how badly he wished he was going out for drinks with Cas instead.

Dean stopped by the passenger side door and turned to Taylor who nudged him against the car gently.

"You had a good time. Admit it." He smirked, tilting his handsome face toward Dean's.

"Yeah, I guess it wasn't so bad."

"Don't bullshit me. You were _dancing._"

"Moshing," Dean corrected. His cheeks flushed as Taylor leaned in even closer. Dean licked his lips. "I didn't know the house band was gonna be so awesome." He felt the warm pressure of Taylor's hands on his hips and turned his face away, acutely aware of how close they were standing. He glanced around furtively, hoping that nobody followed them out of the bar to see him like this with Taylor.

"How about we go back to my place?" Taylor murmured, lips brushing lightly over Dean's jaw, soft against his skin. Dean swallowed and relaxed against the car as his stomach promptly released a swarm of butterflies. Woah, he thought. For all the alcohol permeating his system, he couldn't tell if he felt more nervous or aroused. His body stiffened and his brain kicked straight into overdrive. He'd had more than a couple shots on top of all the beer Taylor kept buying him and he was feeling a little light-headed, foggy. _I guess the guy deserves it. I feel pretty damn awesome right now, how bad could it be?_

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." He said coolly, surprising himself as he slid his hands into his jeans pockets. He was either way too drunk or way too desperate for giving in so easily; but Taylor gave him butterflies and if he wasn't so ashamed about it, he'd have to admit that he was pretty lonely.

Taylor smirked and turned his face to kiss him on the mouth. Dean cupped the back of Taylor's neck and pulled him closer for more.

A low groan escaped Taylor's lips and he pressed his body tight against Dean's. Dean pushed back against him, fingers curling in Taylor's neat blonde hair. The kiss deepened, and Dean took the lead, teasing his tongue into Taylor's mouth. He let out a soft breath, heart pounding in his chest, and when Dean felt a hand on his ass, he chuckled softly. Taylor grunted and kissed him harder. Dean hadn't expected him to be so rough, but he kinda liked it. Okay, he really liked it. A familiar feeling was stirring in his groin and he rubbed his hips against Taylor's leg insistently.

"Fuck," Dean groaned, grabbing Taylor's bicep. A squeeze was enough to confirm that his arms were really firm and muscular beneath his jacket. This guy was rock solid.

Dean slumped back against the car, his legs spreading a little wider as he gripped the front of Taylor's jacket for support. Taylor was kissing his neck and it made Dean shiver. Slowly, he slid his hand down Taylor's chest, hesitating a moment before groping Taylor through his pants. He rubbed at his growing erection, the fabric harsh and warm beneath his fingertips. Taylor groaned in encouragement, but was cut short by the sound of sudden jeering.

Embarrassed, Dean pushed at Taylor's chest, his head whipping around to see what all the fuss was about. Across the street, he noticed a group of men exiting a dive bar, and one particularly incensed brunette leading the pack, making crude gestures to his friends in their direction. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Nobody wants to see that shit!"

"Let it go," Taylor muttered, adjusting his tie, his anger in check. Dean shot him a look; like hell if he was gonna take this lying down.

"Then close your eyes, dickbag!" Dean raised a hand and flipped them off, feeling pretty pleased with himself; but his stomach turned over when he saw the group come to an abrupt halt. There were five – the angry brunette, a taller man with graying hair and a beard, a Jersey Shore looking guy with spikey black hair, a ginger, and a blonde with a face only a mother could love.

"What'd you say?" The brunette was crossing the street now, pushing his sleeves up. Taylor stood back with his palms raised.

"We don't want any trouble," he said grimly.

"So, tell this bitch to shut his mouth."

"This bitch'll kick your ass, you come any closer." Dean's hands curled into fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. He hadn't been in a real fight since his bartending days nearly five years ago, and even then, he always had the bouncers to rely on. At that moment, he wished his father had taught him more than just a straight shot. He glanced over at Taylor, surprised to find him backing away from Ugly and Ginger.

"Really, this isn't necessary," Taylor set his mouth in a thin line as Ginger flicked the green tie up in his face.

"Hey!" Dean barked, stalking over to them. "Don't touch him," he pushed Ginger's arm away, but Ginger shoved him, causing him to stumble back into the angry brunette. Dean bristled and tried to pull away, but the angry brunette held his arms tightly behind his back.

"Not so tough now, faggot."

"That's enough," Taylor said, standing firm, watching the brunette backing away with Dean.

"What the fuck, man-?" Dean jerked and struggled, but his liquor-addled brain was making him feel incredibly sluggish. Undeterred, the brunette continued to tug Dean back into the dark alley between the back of the bar and an abandoned house. "Joe—" The word slipped from Dean's mouth before he had the sense to realize he was pleading as he watched Beard Guy and Jersey Shore block the mouth of the alley with their bulky bodies.

He heard Taylor saying something to Ginger and Ugly, but couldn't make out the words. What the hell was going on? Were these guys seriously gonna knife him like some bad plot twist in a shitty B-movie?

"Face me like a man!" Dean struggled harder. If he could just get his wrist free, he could clock this douchebag and make a run for it. His eyes darted around the alley, looking for something he could use as a weapon, but it was all blurry and his head hurt. This was not good. Not at all. Being outnumbered was one thing; being _drunk_ and outnumbered was a whole new ballgame and he was two outs, bases loaded, bottom of the ninth. He needed a closer badly. Where the hell was Taylor?

"What'd they do to him?" He slurred. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and his head was pounding. He felt the angry brunette clamp a hand down over his lips roughly and tried, in vain, to turn his face away.

They went deeper and deeper into the alleyway, with Beard Guy and Jersey Shore closing in. Dean's heart raced and he felt hot all over. Genuine fear began to fester in the pit of his stomach when suddenly, the angry brunette pushed him up against the wall of the abandoned building and pressed knife to Dean's throat.

"This is what we do to people like you in this neighborhood," the brunette hissed. Dean swallowed shallowly, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously against the cold blade.

"Wait a minute," Beard guy stepped in a little closer, squinting at Dean. "Wait just a minute; I think I know you," he grinned, flashing a mouthful of pearly whites, and shook his finger in Dean's face. "Dean, right?"

"How do you know me?" Dean felt a shiver roll down his spine.

"The _nurse._ You probably don't remember me."

Dean wracked his brains trying to place those beady eyes, but came up short. "Nope. Sorry," he grunted, lifting his chin to avoid the angry brunette's knife.

"I remember you," Beard licked his lips. "Get his wallet."

The angry brunette slapped at Dean's jacket pockets, then reached around and groped at his ass, feeling the bulge of his wallet there. He pulled it out and tossed it to Beard, who flicked it open and studied his driver's license.

"_Winchester_," Beard breathed, almost reverently. He looked up into Dean's face with renewed purpose, and shook his finger again. "Oh, you're gonna have a tough night tonight, Dean, I hate to break it to you."

"What the hell, man? What is your problem?" Dean glared at him, adrenaline pumping through his veins and making him shiver from the sudden rush of cold fear.

"Bend him over," Beard ordered.

The angry brunette dragged Dean over to a beat up wooden restaurant table next to a dumpster and pushed him face down over it. Dean felt someone grab his wrists and stretch him out so he couldn't move. He kicked out wildly behind him, connecting with somebody's leg until he felt the knife against the side of his neck.

"Now, you're gonna go home after we're finished, and you're gonna tell him that all's fair in war," Beard breathed against his ear. "You tell him that this is what happens to traitors."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Dean hissed. "I don't know who you are!"

"Oh, after tonight, I think I'll be unforgettable," Beard murmured.

"Please-" Dean didn't mean to beg, but the fear was overwhelming. He felt a hand against his fly, loosening his belt, unbuttoning the top button, lowering the zip. His jeans and boxer briefs were pulled down to his thighs, exposing his warm, flushed skin to the cool night air. He felt a sharp slap against his ass and closed his eyes.

_Jesus Christ. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Where the hell was Joe?_


	8. Chapter 8

He was drowning.

Every desperate, needy breath was like a dagger slicing into his lungs between the two bottom ribs on his left side. He remembered being hit there with something; they must've cracked. It reminded him of high school, freshman year when Chester Kubrick tackled him out on the blacktop during gym class. He was the largest, defensive tackle in their school's JV division and he thought it would be funny to haze the new kid while he wasn't looking. Dean, of course, instantly lost his mysterious outsider cred when he had to be carried to the nurse's office by the coach. Luckily, the Winchesters didn't stay in Pittsburgh for very long.

Sharp blue and red lights flashed before his eyes, jolting him back to the mouth of the alleyway. He remembered being dragged there and heard a shot ring out, but he didn't know who started it; only that the officer on duty had finished it.

He felt someone's hands on his body, pulling him into the light, pushing him to rest up against a cold, metal dumpster. They felt intimately along his torso; pressing, prodding, and patting over his shirt. Dean groaned and the sound vibrated against his sore ribcage. He turned his face away, acquiescing to the hands as they made their way up to his face and cupped his jaw.

"Are you alright?"

But he couldn't answer because his tongue was too big for his mouth and he tasted nothing but salt.

"Dean!"

Sound was a vacuum – muffled and thick, whistling as though it were being pulled very quickly through the small end of a funnel. He'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity. His naked skin was ghostly and all the fine blonde hairs on his thighs stood on end. Goosebumps broke out all over his body and that's when he felt the chill spread through him like boney fingers exploring and stroking at his very soul. He wanted to shed it like a snake and crawl away; to hide from those penetrating, concerned blue eyes.

Dean was pulled forward and leaned against the man's warm body. He watched the ground fall away as he was hauled to his feet and half-dragged, half-carried to a police cruiser. A heavy fabric was wrapped around him and he was ushered gently into the backseat where he curled in on himself, trembling. A wave of nausea punched him in the guts as he took in the smell of the leather interior, a faint trace of cigarette smoke, and coffee. He looked up to see only the back of the officers' heads as the car pulled onto the street. He could hear their voices as they whispered tersely to back and forth, but it didn't matter what they were saying because Dean didn't care.

The sirens were blaring, but he was exhausted, and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the shrill, pulsating lullaby they seemed to emit.

He was just so tired.

Cas exploded into Taylor's office at 6:05am.

The door hit the wall so hard, it banged against the stopper and swung back until it clicked shut of its own accord. He snapped the deadbolt in place and turned to see Taylor rise up slowly from behind his desk. He raised both palms in peace, but said nothing as Cas locked eyes with him. For a long moment, nobody spoke; nobody moved. Taylor noticed the blood smeared on the front of the officer's shirt and choked back the anger and revulsion burning like bile in his throat.

"Officer St. James—"

Cas walked around the desk and grabbed him by the lapels of his long, white coat before the doctor could get out another word.

"You left him there," Cas's deep voice reverberated through Taylor's chest. He could see that the officer's pupils were blown and heard Cas's knuckles pop as he tightened his hands into fists.

"No—"

"You left him there!"

"What could I have done?" His voice trembled and he fought to keep it steady. Truthfully, he felt nothing but shame and guilt ever since he got back to his office. He didn't hear anything when they hauled Dean away; no screams, no drunken ramblings. Nothing but a single plea for help in the form of his own name. Dean had called out to him; it was the last thing he heard before they did god knows what. He knew he'd have nightmares about it for a long time. The fact that he didn't go back for Dean because the fear outweighed the guilt in his heart made him a true coward, but he couldn't take it back. Not now; not ever.

Last night…

He remembered it so vividly. He heard his name – the concern and confusion in Dean's voice – and swung wildly, hitting the knife wielding thug in the face with the heel of his palm. Then he spun and round-house kicked the other guy in the stomach like he was Jackie fucking Chan and leaped over him in the scramble to get the hell out of Dodge. This was exactly the reason he signed up for those karate classes – he knew a guy back in med school who got gay bashed in broad daylight outside of a frat house – he still woke up in cold sweat over it sometimes. People were talking about that poor son of a bitch like he brought it on himself and that's when Taylor realized he needed to learn how to defend himself if he wanted to be open about his sexuality.

Still, Taylor couldn't shake the chill he got just thinking about the glee in that thug's eyes when the cold blade was pressed against his throat. It was absolutely horrifying to think that someone could derive pleasure from killing a person just because the thought of two guys kissing was too much for him to bear. All Taylor could think about was Paul Sullivan back in college and the pictures they broadcast of his battered face on the news.

So, Taylor ran. He hopped into his car, peeled off down the street at sixty in five, and called the police when he could get his hand to stop shaking long enough to dial properly.

"There were five of them. They put a knife to my neck." He flinched as Cas launched forward and slammed Taylor against the window, crushing him against the blinds. "I left to get help!" He cried. "Who do you think called 9-1-1?"

Cas's eyes raked over his face, taking in the sight of Taylor's bruised cheekbone and the bandage on his neck. It wasn't enough to lessen his anger, but it let him know that Taylor was, in fact, a victim of circumstance.

Dammit.

A muscle jumped in his jaw and he fought down the urge to slam a fist into the doctor's stomach anyway. He didn't want to be convinced that Taylor had a hand in helping Dean. He didn't want to lay his blame on someone else. There was a good scapegoat here and now, so why not just take out his frustrations and give this guy the beating he wanted to give him ever since that night he found out Dean had a boyfriend. It was selfish and excessive and rotten of him to stand there and let his jealousy fester while Dean was lying broken in a hospital bed, but thinking of Taylor always brought out the worst in him. Besides, what the hell did a couple scrapes and bruises mean in the long run? For all he knew, those men were Taylor's buddies and the whole goddamn thing was a setup.

Still, he was already in enough trouble with the Captain and reluctantly decided that beating Taylor up wasn't worth the risk to his career. He unfurled his hands and took a step back, glaring into the doctor's eyes before he turned away and crossed the room.

"I thought you'd see reason," Taylor said and smoothed out the front of his clothes.

"Don't tempt me," Cas warned, and approached the side window, using a finger to pull down a section of the blinds. He peered down at the street below and saw Balthazar talking animatedly with a news crew whose van was parked illegally next to a fire hydrant. He felt relief as he saw his partner whip out a ticket book and wave it threateningly at the male anchor. He pointed a finger at the bespeckled camera woman as if to say, you too, sweetheart!, and watched them dejectedly pack up their stuff and leave.

Taylor took a hesitant step toward his desk and settled for gripping the back of the chair instead of sitting down in it. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and said finally, "Did you catch them?"

"Yes." Cas turned around to face him, fists clenched and shoulders bunched up. It was a partial lie, but Taylor didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know that he was a suspect, either. Not yet.

"What are you going to do?" Taylor asked. "Have you been to see him yet?"

"He's getting stitches."

"I could go down and see if—"

"You stay away from him," Cas moved toward the desk.

"He doesn't want to see me anyway," Taylor said, and lowered his eyes.

"You have some nerve—" Cas walked around the desk as Taylor backed up with the chair.

"I didn't want this to happen!" Taylor shoved the chair into the desk and knocked a stack of papers onto the floor. It was dramatic, yes, but he was sick and tired of the accusations; the judgment. He didn't deserve that. What was he supposed to do? What if they had decided to take their anger out on him as well? "Should I have stayed and gotten us both killed?"

"No," Cas looked surprised.

"Then calm down. He needs comfort now. More than ever."

"I'm handling it."

"When I went to his room, he was out like a light," Taylor offered. "The morphine, the stress…I most certainly did not speak with him. I just—I know he wouldn't want to see me. That's all."

"I can't imagine why," Cas said through gritted teeth.

"He doesn't need your protection," Taylor fired back, feeling the shame and nausea bubble up to the back of his throat. "I made sure to keep the hospital security detail posted outside of his room. Christ, I even gave him two months off. Paid."

Cas's nostrils flared and he felt fire in his chest. He wanted so badly to believe that Taylor was not a good person. He wanted to punch holes in his logic and illustrate that everything he did was wrong, but the fact of the matter was that Taylor had it all under control. He knew all the right things to say and took all the appropriate steps to help pave the road to Dean's recovery.

"He's going to need somebody to talk to," Cas grunted.

"I've got some references."

"I want eight options emailed to me before noon," Cas snapped, feeling incredibly small and useless. He picked up a pen and jotted his information down on a piece of computer paper from Taylor's printer. "That's my cell, email, and office number."

"I'll take care of it," Taylor nodded and fixed his chair, regaining that cool, calm demeanor he so often exuded.

When neither of them moved to shake hands, Cas turned on his heel and swept out of the office, trying to hide the fact that he had no clue what to do next. All he wanted was to find the one that ran away from the scene of the crime and break his neck.

Cas just couldn't shake the memory of Dean's limp, compliant body bent over that wooden table; or the hands curled possessively around his naked hips; or the broken look in his eyes when Cas was finally able to pull him away to safety.

No. He wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully for a long time.

When Dean woke up, he felt like his whole body weighed about a thousand pounds and his throat was on fire. He noticed that the curtains were drawn and that the only light came from the monitors bleeping around the bed in random succession. The darkness was good for his eyes, which felt puffy and strained from the tears he wouldn't admit to shedding. When he turned his head to check the morphine drip, he felt stitches straining at the hollow of his throat where someone had cut him. Then he dropped his eyes to the medical bracelet around his left wrist and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

_Mercy General Hospital_.

The realization hit him like a two-by-four right in the guts. He didn't really remember much of anything after he was placed in the back of the police squad car; but the thought of being brought to his own hospital where his friends and co-workers could see what had happened to him made tears spring instantly to his eyes. He wanted to curl up and die right there.

They would have seen the knife wound on his neck and the bruises on his face, wrists, hips, ass, and inner thighs. They would have used the kit on him to collect evidence. They would have examined him intimately while he was unconscious, and Dean felt violated and betrayed all over again. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, but his mouth and throat felt cracked and dry. Every time he swallowed, it was like sandpaper scraping against the back of his tongue. Every time he tried to breathe in through his nose, he smelled copper and knew that there must be dried blood caked inside his nasal passage.

Of all places, Mercy General.

Dean couldn't tell by the state he was in or the vague hint of light outside the curtain just how long he was out. He wondered if Rodrigo or Jo – _please not Jo –_ was his attending nurse. He wondered what had become of Taylor and if he was alright. But most of all, he wondered what the bearded man had meant by what he said and why they hurt him instead of slitting his throat right then and there.

The machine beside his bed beeped, signaling that the morphine would begin to drip out the next dose. Dean closed his burning eyes and let a dreamless sleep grab hold of him again, wishing in vain that he wouldn't wake up a second time.

Very slowly, the pain, both physical and emotional, began to fade away as Dean drifted off.

"Again. For the last time."

Captain Anna Milton's eyes bore into Cas as he stood in front of her desk with Balthazar at his side. He'd been standing there for an hour, but for the most part, Milton was quiet. She made Cas run through his story three times already, and at this point, he felt like the walls were closing in on him in her small, uncomfortably bright office.

"Captain, please," he said.

"It is vital that everyone is on the same page with this, St. James. You screw up even the tiniest little detail, and this will all come crashing down around you. Not me. Not him," she jerked a thumb in Balthazar's general direction, "_you_."

"Don't you think I know that?" He snapped.

"Watch your tone."

They stood there, trading glares in silence while Balthazar fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. Cas wished the ground would just open up and swallow the pair of them. He was so tired. Drained. And in his mind's eye, a bearded man with grotesquely exaggerated features was leaning over his best friend in a darkened alley, rolling his hips over and over again, laughing.

"It was late," Cas ground his teeth, "dispatch sent out a call to whatever cars were in the area about a sexual assault in an alley off State Street. We were already in the vicinity. When we got there I…" a muscle jumped in Cas's jaw as he fought to keep composed, "...caught the _perpetrator_ in the act of—" his voice broke and he closed his mouth before he began to flounder. How she could justify making him say it again and again was beyond him at this point. He shouldn't be there; he should at Mercy, making sure Dean was being treated properly. Making sure he had water if got thirsty or changing the channel on the TV if he got bored. Christ, he didn't even know if Dean was awake yet and the thought of not being there made his blood boil and fist clench.

"Fuck this."

"Cas—" Balthazar caught his arm as Cas swung around to face the door.

"I'm not gonna stand here and relive what those sickos did to my friend," he jerked his arm free. "I got it, okay? I got the goddamn story straight. If you need me for something _important_, I'll be at Mercy."

"Castiel," Anna said, her tone sharp enough to make him spare her a fleeting look as his hand hovered above the doorknob. "Four weeks. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Good," she said and finally took his badge and gun off the desk top and shoved them into a drawer. "I'll have your these returned to you when you're finished."

Balthazar watched Cas storm out of the office without another word, then turned slowly to face the Captain.

"That went rather swimmingly if I do say so myself," he ventured. He watched Anna pinch the bridge of her nose, then sink down into the plush leather chair behind her desk. "Anna," he sat across from her in one of the guest chairs and leaned forward to drum his fingers on the mahogany. "I don't think Cas will be a problem; he knows the—"

"Not a problem? You were standing right there, Balthazar. You saw what he did to that man."

"I know, yes, but—"

"He needs time. He _clearly_ needs time. For now, it's you and Morgan."

"Stick in the mud."

"Cool, it Baz. You can tolerate her for four weeks."

"Pinch me, please, I'm dreaming."

"Get out of my office; I don't want to hear it."

"Very well. Auf Wiedersehen, mein Kapitän."

"So dramatic," she rolled her eyes.

With that, Balthazar rose to his feet and dragged himself out of Anna's office to go inform Detective Hester Morgan of their temporary partnership.

When Dean woke up, he hurt much less than he did before. He also thought he was alone again and jolted at the sudden burst of movement beside him. Through bleary eyes, he discerned the broad shoulders, messy dark hair, and lean body of his best friend retrieving a paper cup from the nightstand. Cas was there, waiting for him to wake up, sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours, maybe, until this very moment.

"Cas," he said hoarsely, and felt the strain on his vocal chords. He looked up and caught that familiar, electric gaze as Cas tipped the cup to his dry, cracked lips.

"Drink, Dean," Cas said and held the cup until Dean had his fill.

"How long was I out?"

"It's been about a day. The nurse told me that was a good thing; that you needed to rest."

Dean turned his face away and Cas could see the struggle contorting his features as he tried to figure out what to say next.

"Are you alrigh—?"

"Why didn't you just leave me there?" Dean closed his eyes, feeling them burn with unshed tears.

Cas blinked owlishly at Dean as his stomach turned over; leave him there? "None of this was your fault," he intoned deeply. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed and hunched his shoulders as he fought to maintain a wholly unthreatening position. All he wanted to do was go back down to the precinct and throttle the captives there within inches of their lives.

"No," Dean's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "One of 'em knew me, Cas. The guy with the beard. He knew my name." It was weighing heavy in his mind ever since the man looked at his license and said it out loud; a coincidence gone horribly wrong. Beard looked and sounded so surprised at the sight of Dean's face…those gray eyes bore into the very soul of him. Words reaching down his throat like a scythe and cutting him up from the inside out; warm, baby-soft hands touching his body, touching him everywhere. He took a breath and felt the lump in his throat swell until he could no longer hold back the tears and was openly weeping in front of Cas.

"Dean," Cas's hands tightened into fists. He stared down at his knees as he fought off a wave of nausea. "I'd give anything not to have you feel like this," he choked out and looked at the bruises standing out in stark contrast against Dean's pale face. He felt feral; vicious. "I'll find him…I'll make him pay for what he did to you—"

"No—" Dean shifted back against the pillows to sit up a little better. He reached out and curled a trembling hand around Cas's forearm, then mustered up the strength to squeeze firmly. "No."

"No?" Cas moved closer, spurred by the unyielding urge to protect and shelter his friend. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean no, dammit. Just no. I don't want you going anywhere near him."

"Why the hell not?"

"Just don't, okay!?"

Cas closed his mouth and pressed his lips together tightly, acquiescing to the tremor in Dean's voice. If it made Dean feel better, then he wouldn't talk about it anymore; wouldn't think about hunting that bastard down like a dog through the city and putting him down like one.

"The son of a bitch isn't worth it," Dean sniffed hard and forced the lump back down, channeling his pain into anger. The thought of Cas facing his attackers made him sick to his stomach. How Cas would cuff them; arrest them; put them in jail. Make him testify; oh god; what if he had to testify? He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to see their smug, ugly faces from across the bench in a court of law as he gave testimony to what they did to him that night. Dean didn't even think it was possible to verbalize it to a room full of people. He felt so ashamed; so weak. Vulnerable, even. It was like his manhood was ripped away in the blink of an eye. God, if his father could see him now…

The silence grew and festered between them until the sound of his sharp, ragged breaths indicated to Cas that he was once again crying. He lifted a heavy hand up to wipe away the wetness on his face and set his jaw, willing himself to man up and shut up. He ventured a glance over at Cas and saw only hardness there; no pity or sympathy. It was a shockingly welcome relief.

"When I was shot, I cried sometimes. Because of how much it hurt," Cas ventured.

"Liar. I never saw you cry. "

"When I was alone, I cried. Especially after therapy; and the only thing that made me happy—" Cas worked a muscle in his jaw, brow creasing like he wasn't sure he ought to be speaking right now, "the only thing that made me happy was seeing _you_. And attempting to play checkers. And having you come fluff up my pillows and feed me jello."

Dean looked at him finally, managing to roll his bloodshot eyes.

"Nobody's ever done anything like that for me before," Cas looked down as Dean's hand tightened ever so slightly on his forearm. He tilted his face and caught those green eyes with his own blue ones and said, "Maybe I wasn't clear about it at the time, but I'm incredibly grateful to you."

"C'mon, you were hurt fightin'. This—me? I'm just pathetic."

"You are _not_ pathetic. This is _not_ your fault."

Dean drew his hand away from Cas's arm, then slipped it back under the blanket, tucked in up to his chin. Just that little bit of contact – from his best friend – made him feel queasy. He wondered how long it would be until the feeling went away for good. How long he'd be having nightmares and crying like a girl. How long until he felt some semblance of normalcy about himself again…

"Okay," Cas said, resuming a conversation they hadn't been having. He stood up and carefully replaced the chair he'd been sitting in all night to its spot under the window. "I insist you get some rest."

"I am kinda tired," Dean yawned.

"Sleep well," Cas said, adjusting the privacy curtain around the bed. He listened to Dean shifting on the lumpy mattress for a moment, then walked to the door.

"Thanks," Dean said so softly that Cas almost missed it. He paused with his hand on the door handle and took a deep breath before walking out.

It was only as Dean was drifting off that he suddenly realized the gravity of what Cas said earlier about the bearded man: _find him_. That meant he was still out there.

The desire to sleep disappeared as swiftly as it had fallen over him and Dean curled up tight under the blanket, wondering if Beard would remember the address that was stamped on his license.

Wondering if Beard would be there when he got home…

It was late when Cas pulled up along Cooper Street in the cruiser and he was grateful for the cover of night. Otherwise, he'd have to deal with odd looks from the Rutgers students as somebody who simply didn't belong on campus. He had debated with himself all evening about even showing up, but the pros outweighed the cons and in the end, he found himself trudging up the walkway to the Senator Walter Rand Institute for Public Affairs with a chip on his shoulder.

There was a woman already standing in room 221-B when he arrived, writing with a marker on a white board and surrounded by a grouping of empty hard-plastic, maroon colored chairs.

Cas could kick himself for acquiescing to the Captain's demands. He shouldn't be standing in university lecture hall. He was useful in the field; the best in the game, and he couldn't help but feel that the punishment didn't fit the so-called 'crime'.

"Well, hey there, Columbo. I wasn't expecting you to show."

He finally realized that the woman was looking at him; talking to him.

"Columbo..?" He squinted at her, watching the sway of her hips as she sauntered right up to him, cradling a clipboard to her breast.

"I haven't seen a get-up like that since San Diego Comic Con circa 1978," she flashed him a brilliant white smile and held out a limp hand. "Meg Masters. And you're Castiel St. James."

"I'd say it was nice to meet you under different circumstances," he gripped her hand and shook firmly.

"Straight shooter; I like that quality in a man." She chose a seat, seemingly at random, and crossed her legs at knee. The clipboard balanced there, teetering on the edge, while she looked up at him patiently.

"Let's just cut to the chase. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to be," he muttered and shrugged out of his overcoat. He dropped into a chair directly across from her and folded his arms, glowering like a surly teenage boy.

"You don't believe you deserve this, do you, Cas."

"Officer St. James."

"Officer," she gave him a slow, easy smile.

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the pertinent details of an on-going investigation with a group ther—"

"Oh, this isn't group therapy, Officer. It's just you and me, all by our lonesome."

"But there are eleven chairs here—"

"Officer," she leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. "Now, I know they told you who I am. There's no need to try and get out of this. This is a mandatory counseling session that you're supposed to attend twice a week for four weeks while you're on suspension, but I don't want you to feel like you're on trial, because you're _not_. I'm here to help you and everything that's discussed between us is strictly confidential in adherence with your Captain's orders. Nothing leaves this circle; do you understand?"

"I understand." Cas looked away, feeling incredibly foolish.

"Good. Now, why don't we start at the beginning…"

All week long he felt eyes on him whenever the door was left open a crack. No matter who was walking by, someone wanted to catch a glimpse of him. He knew it was because they were his friends; if one of the other nurses had been brought in looking like he did that night, he'd be damn sure concerned about them as well. But he just couldn't take it any longer.

Dean was sitting up in bed on the sixth night, having been weaned from morphine to pills in a short amount of time. He didn't like the idea of being dependent on drugs and was insistent and hands on about his treatment, much to the chagrin of the hospital staff, but they put up with all of his antics.

Jo was even kind enough to let Dean pretend to be asleep whenever she had to come in and check on him, but enough pity was enough, and he picked up his phone.

Cas was in bed when he got the call.

His phone buzzed and buzzed until it vibrated right off his nightstand and onto the floor. With a groan, his hand snaked out from under the warm comforter as he groped on the floor to pick it up.

"Hello?" He croaked.

"Cas, come get me."

"Dean?" He sat bolt upright in bed and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Right now, Cas."

"What happened? You okay?" He slid out of bed and pulled a dirty pair of jeans out of the hamper, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tugged them on.

"No." A pause. "Yes." A sigh. "I'm fine, but I'm goin' nuts and I just wanna come home now. So, can you pick me up?"

"Dean," Cas sighed and sat back down on the edge of his bed. He raked a hand through his hair and tried to ease the panic that had bubbled up in his chest. "You know I can't do that."

"Yes you can. I don't have to be here. I can lay around at home in my own bed. You gotta come now, though, man. I can't take this crummy food anymore and I will spend the next week apologizing for every time I made you choke it down if you just come get me."

"I will not be held accountable for another attempted escape."

"You're a cop! Can't you tell them to screw off?"

"No."

"_Cas_."

"_Dean._"

"Please?"

"Fine," Cas got up and trudged to the bathroom to brush his teeth. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

But to Dean's delight, Cas got there in ten.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, I just want to let you know that all future updates will be posted to Archive of Our Own from now on. It's just easier for me to post there and I feel more comfortable posting on my own account than on Bryan's. I hope that those of you who have been following this story from the beginning will come join me there as it's a much more accessible place for the story to be posted with regard to content and the actual uploading process. Thanks!

**To get the AO3 version, go to: archiveofourown dot org/works/387261/chapters/634556 (Take out the word "dot" and put an actual period there. FFN won't let me write out the whole link for some reason. If you have trouble, just visit archiveofourown and do an author search for "clownfrogg".)  
**


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